


Whoever Fights Monsters

by getpitchslapped



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternative Universe - FBI, Child Death, F/F, Murder, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 55,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4086814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getpitchslapped/pseuds/getpitchslapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. With a serial killer on the loose, the Barden Police Department calls in Special Agent Chloe Beale to assist in the investigation. Detective Beca Mitchell isn't used to sharing her turf with the feds, but they must quickly learn to work together to stop the man only known as the Barden Strangler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please read me!
> 
> This fic contains graphic depictions of violence, including sexually motivated homicide and the death of children.
> 
> If you have detailed knowledge of Dennis Rader (commonly known as BTK), you will notice that the crimes in this story are very similar to his. (Also, if you have detailed knowledge of Dennis Rader, please tell me so we can be friends.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not a detective or an FBI agent (as much as I would like to be), nor am I a serial killer, so I am drawing very heavily from the book Inside the Mind of BTK: The True Story Behind the Thirty-Year Hunt for the Notorious Wichita Serial Killer by John Douglas and Johnny Dodd. (I will mark where I am using information from this book.)
> 
> I am trying to make this fic as factually accurate as possible, but for the sake of the story there are some things that will be unrealistic or exaggerated. If something seems incorrect, please don't hesitate to tell me, but it probably was intentional. I am happy to discuss anything contained in this fic further.
> 
> Happy reading!

" _Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." -Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

"You know, we're really not doing much to help the whole cops-love-Dunkin' Donuts stereotype."

An eyebrow raises. "Does that mean you don't want this?" Jesse asks teasingly, holding the steaming Styrofoam cup just out of Beca's reach.

"Fuck off," she says, smacking her partner on the arm with one hand as she snags the cup with the other. "I was just saying."

Jesse rounds the unmarked police car and plops into the driver's seat, glancing at the digital dashboard clock. "Shit."

"What?"

"We've got, like, ten minutes to get back for Posen's meeting," Jesse says with a roll of his eyes. "If we're late from a coffee run one more time I think she's going to—"

A brief moment of static bursts from the dashboard scanner before a shaky voice is audible: "28D... 28D. Backup requested." 28D—homicide. Both officers raised their eyebrows and exchanged looks.

"Saved by the bell," Jesse quips as he turns the key in the ignition as Beca reads off the address.

"A couple of dead bodies are probably much more pleasant than Aubrey Posen at this time in the morning," Beca mutters under her breath, chuckling when Jesse swats at her. "What? It's true."

"That doesn't mean you have to say it out loud," he tells her, pulling onto the highway.

"If I don't, no one will know how hilarious I am," Beca deadpans, sipping her coffee.

"If by 'hilarious' you mean 'sociopathic' then, yes, you're on the right track," Jesse teases, turning onto a residential street.

"Shit," Beca breathes. The street is packed with ambulances and police cars, lights flashing. Uniformed officers, crime scene technicians, and EMTs mill about around the house they've been directed to. The property is roped off with yellow crime scene tape. Across the street, curious civilians gather to watch the activity.

"What the hell happened?" Jesse mutters, cutting the engine of the vehicle and stepping out.

"Must be more than just a couple of bodies," Beca answers as they approach the house.

They're met on the driveway by Aubrey, whose mouth is set in a grim line as she watches the crime scene techs coming out of the house with arms full of paper evidence bags.

"Jesus Christ, Aubrey, what happened?" Jesse asks.

"That's Lieutenant Posen to you," Aubrey says, crossing her arms. Then her face softens a bit. "Quadruple homicide. Mom, dad, and two kids."

"Holy shit," Beca says, looking back at the house. "How old were the kids?"

Aubrey sighs heavily. "Neighbors say seven and ten."

"Oh my God," Jesse says. "Is there anything we can do?"

"No, the crime scene techs have it under control now," Aubrey says, shaking her head. "I'm calling a meeting in a couple of hours. I'll debrief everyone then."

"Aye aye, lieu—" Beca starts to say (sarcastically), but stops her words abruptly as a stretcher is wheeled out of the house, on top of which is a body bag. She looks away.

Homicides in Barden county are infrequent, but she's seen a few—drug deals gone bad, a gang hit, and one guy who shot his wife point-blank in the head. Something about this feels different, though. More serious. More sinister.

"If you'll excuse me," Aubrey says, turning to talk to one of the techs.

"Come on, Bec," Jesse says, placing a hand on her shoulder and steering her toward their car.

Beca casts one more glance at the house before ducking into the car.

* * *

It's quieter than usual at the station; there's very little banter between the detectives and the officers as they hunch over their stacks of paperwork at their desks.

Beca and Jesse eat their lunches across from each other in relative silence. Beca's holding her sandwich in one hand and scribbling out a report on a recent assault with the other, occasionally glancing at the clock. It's nearly three.

"So what do you think this was?" Jesse asks, his hushed voice sounding louder than it is in the quiet space. "Domestic? Drugs? A gang thing?"

"I really don't know," Beca says around a mouthful of turkey. "I need more details. Doesn't sound domestic, though. The whole family is dead."

"Yeah," Jesse agrees, standing to toss his garbage. "You ready to go?"

Beca looks down at the other half of her sandwich. She's not really that hungry today.

"Yeah, let's go."

* * *

"Okay."

Aubrey claps her hands together as the last of the officers trickle into the conference room. She stands in front of a whiteboard, and her hands she holds a manila envelope, and Beca can't help but notice that her hands are trembling slightly.

"I'm sure you've all heard about the quadruple homicide on Johnson Street, yes?" Aubrey asks, and everyone in the room nods or gives an "Mhm."

"You've all probably got a lot of questions. I ask that you hold them until I'm finished, okay?" She doesn't wait for a response. "So here we have the King family." Aubrey pauses to scribble names on the board. "Jane, the mother, age forty-five. Steven, the father, age forty-seven. Neighbors told us that Jane was a stay-at-home-mom, and Steven worked for a computer repair company.

"Alison, the daughter, age ten. And, lastly, the son, Jack, age seven." Aubrey pauses for a moment, clearing her throat, and Beca closes her eyes briefly.  _So young_. "They were found by their oldest child, Steven Jr., when he came home from school. He left the house earlier than the other two kids. We had Steven's brother come in and identify the bodies."

Aubrey opens the clasp on the envelope and pulls out a stack of photographs. "Crime scene photos. Take a look, pass them around. But I'm going to warn you—it's not pretty."

As the photos make their way around, there are muted gasps from everyone who flips through them; one officer even whimpers a bit. Beca steels herself as the pictures are slid her way, but even she can't stop her sharp intake of breath when she lays her eyes on the first photo.

"We found Jane and Steven's bodies in the bedroom. It appears Steven was the first to die. His body was found on the floor, and his hands were tied behind his back and his ankles were bound with electrical tape." Aubrey pauses for a moment to flip through her notes. "We don't have official autopsy reports yet—we'll have those tomorrow. It's pretty clear, though, that the killer tried to manually strangle Steven, but either found it was taking too long or wasn't strong enough, so he tied a plastic bag around the victim's head."

Aubrey scribbles the cause of death next to Steven's name, and flips to the next page in her notes. "Jane was also found in the bedroom, but her body was on the bed. She was tied in the same way Steven was, and marks on her neck suggest both manual and ligature strangulation."

Beca's taken a class on homicide. She knows theoretically what strangulation does, what it looks like.

The textbook description can't even hold a candle to photos of the real thing, though.

The marker squeaks loudly in the silent room as Aubrey writes "strangulation" next to Jane's name. "We found Jack in his bedroom. We don't know if the killer carried him there or made him walk. His wrists and ankles were also bound, but with cord. He also had a plastic bag over his head," Aubrey says as she writes "suffocation" on the board, "but unlike Steven, he also had a t-shirt tied around his head over the bag. There was also no sign of strangulation."

Just a short glance at little Jack's ashen face and bloodshot eyes leaves Beca feeling nauseous, and she quickly flips it over, pushing the stack to Jesse.

"And finally we have Alison. She was found in her bedroom, tied with the same type of cord that was used on Jack. Like her mother, she was strangled, but it appears to only have been manual. She was the only one of the four to have been gagged. She was also"—Aubrey takes a breath—"partially undressed. We don't know if there was sexual assault; we'll get that in the autopsy report."

Across the room, several people gasp or make disgusted noises. Some, including Jesse, drop their heads into their hands. Beca presses a hand to her mouth.

"It appears that the kids were getting ready to go to school when the killer arrived," Aubrey continues, capping her marker. "There were half-made sandwiches and open lunch boxes on the counter. We think that the killer may have forced his way in when someone took out the trash, because there was a full trash bag left on the front porch. He probably had some sort of weapon in order to subdue the family."

"If the killer had a weapon, why would he strangle or suffocate the victims?" asks Benji, one of the younger officers.

Aubrey gives the officer a hard look, and Beca winces. "I asked for questions to be held until I was finished, Officer Applebaum." Benji has the good sense to look sheepish. "But I don't have an answer to that.

"There were no prints found at the scene; the killer probably was wearing gloves. There was a partial boot print by the back door. And the techs did find some fibers on the back deck, but those could have come from friends or family.

"Lastly, one of the family cars was missing from the driveway. In fact, it was the only thing missing from the house. It was found in the parking lot of a strip mall a few miles away. Other than that, there doesn't appear to be anything missing from the house. We're pretty sure the killed brought the cord and the electrical tape in with him."

Flipping her notes closed, Aubrey places her palms flat on the table. "I know that this is unlike anything we've ever handled before. But I have faith in you guys. Now, this case is going to need full-time work, so I'm creating a task force. Swanson, Adams, and Mitchell"—Beca, Jesse, and Cynthia Rose, another Barden detective sit up a bit straighter in their chairs—"I'm assigning you three to this case. I'm going to need you guys conducting interviews, canvassing the neighborhood, and communicating with forensics."  
Aubrey looks at them with a grave expression on her face. "Can I count on you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jesse says at the same time Cynthia Rose says, "Absolutely." Beca just nods.

"Excellent." Aubrey goes back to addressing the room. " _Now_ I will take questions."

* * *

"Wassup, task force homies?" Jesse says, turning to Beca and Cynthia Rose as they exit the conference room. He holds his hand up for a high five.

"Please don't," Cynthia Rose tells him, tugging his hand down. "Are you going to take this seriously? Because we have a lot of shit to do."

"Of course I'm going to take it seriously," Jesse says, looking mildly offended. "Excuse me for trying to lighten the mood a bit."

"Guys, we can't start arguing now," Beca interjects, holding out her hands. "We're all kinda freaked out, but let's not take it out on each other, okay?"

"You're right," Cynthia Rose says, and Jesse nods. "Man, I feel like I need a drink already."

"I feel you," Jesse sighs as the three trudge back to the detectives' office space.

"Me, too." Beca sinks down into her squeaky rolling desk chair, look tiredly down at the half-finished assault report.

"I'll tell you what," Cynthia Rose says, flipping open a folder. "I'll buy everyone drinks when we catch this bastard."

Jesse calls out, "Amen!" and shares a high five with Cynthia Rose.

Beca tries to smile, but can't help but feel like the end is nowhere in sight.

* * *

"Ugh, I never thought I'd get to sit again."

Jesse falls into his desk chair with a groan. Beca and Cynthia Rose do the same in their respective chairs. Beca toes off her shoes underneath the desk, dropping the stack of notepads and folders onto its surface with a  _thump_.

Cynthia Rose boots up her computer, its low hum the only sound in the room as the three decompress from a (very) long day of interviewing and neighborhood canvassing.

"Hey, we got something," Cynthia Rose says, opening an email. "It's the autopsy report."

Beca moves to read over Cynthia Rose's shoulder, shoes forgotten. Jesse leans over the desk to look at the screen.

"Cause of death for Jane is strangulation… Cause of death for Steven suffocation… Same for Jack… And cause of death for Alison strangulation. With…" Cynthia Rose continues scrolling. "No sign of sexual assault."

Beca sighs in something almost like relief, but she's puzzled, too. "That's odd that he… did that to her if there was no intention of sexual assault."

Cynthia Rose shrugs. "I wouldn't put any of this in the realm of normal."

"Touché," Beca says. "Don't forget to forward this to Aubrey."

"On it," Cynthia Rose says as Aubrey herself walks through the door.

"Forward what do me?" she asks, eyeing the group clumped around the computer.

"Autopsy report's in," Jesse says, scooting out of the way so Aubrey can look.

"Nothing we didn't expect, aside from the lack of sexual assault on the little girl," Cynthia Rose informs her. "Confirmed causes of death."

"Looks like the killer did try to strangle Steven," Beca says, pointing to the screen. "The hyoid bone was fractured. Same with Jane and Alison. "

Aubrey nods, her eyes scanning the page. "Bruising around Jane's upper neck suggests that she was strangled from behind," she reads.

"I guess Jack was the only one the killer  _didn't_  try to strangle," Cynthia Rose notes.

"That's weird," Jesse says. He's moved so he's standing behind the group. "He was the smallest."

"And by that standard the easiest," Beca agrees.

"Who knows?" Aubrey says, sighing and righting herself. "Who even wants to kill children in the first place? Now, how did interviewing go? Any info?"

"We did get one guy," Beca says, moving back to her desk and flipping through her notepad, "a neighbor, who saw the missing car backing out of the driveway around nine o'clock."

"And?" Aubrey says expectantly when Beca pauses.

"He said that the guy driving was white and had dark hair. He thinks he may have been wearing glasses." Beca drops the notepad back onto the desk. "And that's about it."

"That's it? Did you get anything on a possible motive?" Aubrey plants her hands on her hips, looking irritated. "Did you even  _remember_ to ask about drugs, or—"

"Whoa there, Lieu," Cynthia Rose cuts in. "We did; we asked about drugs, gang involvement, everything. Everyone said they were just a normal family."

"Not even a history of divorce or conflicts at work," Jesse adds. "The only family that lives near them is Steven's brother, and we confirmed he was at work during the time of the murders."

"Great," Aubrey says sarcastically, pinching the bridge of her nose. "So now we just talk to every dark-haired white man in a twenty-mile radius." She sighs again. "Good work today, guys. Go home, get some rest. You'll need it."

"She looks like  _she_  could use some rest," Cynthia Rose mutters quietly once Aubrey is out of earshot.

Beca nods, silently agreeing. Aubrey looked exhausted and frazzled, her eyes slightly red.

And it's only day two.

* * *

On day eight the forensics lab calls to say that they're ruled out two of the fibers found—one apparently belongs to a school friend who had been there the previous day, the other to a shirt owned by Steven Jr.

On day eleven the lab calls again to say they've finished processing the missing car. They're found essentially nothing of value.

By day thirty-six the Beca, Jesse, and Cynthia Rose have looked into nearly forty dark-haired white guys, each as seemingly innocent as the next.

On day forty-nine Cynthia Rose gets pulled from the task force to work some drug sale scheme.

Three months out, and the case officially goes cold.

* * *

"Hello, and welcome to 7News Atlanta. Today marks the one-year anniversary of a mysterious quadruple murder in Barden. Today we remember the King family—Steven, Jane, and young children Alison and Jack—were found dead in their home one year ago today. So far, the police have no suspects, and the case has since gone cold—"

Aubrey abruptly snaps the little television off.

"Hey!" Jesse protests, but Aubrey silences him with a look. She turns in her chair and faces what's left of the task force—Beca and Jesse—who are seated in front of her desk in her tiny office. Every muscle in her face is tensed, and she looks like she didn't get much sleep the previous night.

"Have I mentioned how beautiful you look today?" Jesse asks, and Beca steps on his toe as discreetly as possible."

"Can it, Swanson. Now's not the time. It's been a year and we have nothing," Aubrey says, crossing her arms. "Aside from the fact that the killer is still out there, this is making us look really, really bad."

"Can't have that," Beca can't help but mumble sarcastically under her breath.

"I heard that," Aubrey says. "This isn't just about the good name of the Barden Police Department. This could affect funding—which has an effect on  _your_ salary, Mitchell. So maybe you should care."

"Okay, jeez." Beca holds her hands up in mock surrender. "What do you propose we do? Interview more people?"

"I think we need outside help," Aubrey says. "As much as it pains me to admit it."

"From whom?" Jesse asks. "We've had other departments look at the files."

"I've contacted the FBI. They're sending someone from Quantico," Aubrey informs them, needlessly straightening a stack of papers on her desk.

"Whoa," Beca says. "Big guns."

"I need you guys to gather and organize all of the files and information for this person. And then pray that they've got some sort of insight that we don't," Aubrey tells them. "You two are dismissed."

"Do you really think this will work? What could this person possibly know that we don't?" Jesse whispers to Beca as they leave the office.

"I don't know." Beca sighs. "But I really hope so."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting chapter two as well because Chloe doesn't show up in the first chapter. (Spoiler alert?)

Beca's late.

Aubrey is going to  _kill_  her.

She slams the door to her car, fumbling with the keys with one hand while trying not to drop her coffee and messenger bag with the other. Somehow, she manages to lock it. She speed-walks across the parking lot, muttering "Fuck" with every other step.

"Excuse me!" a voice behind her calls out.

Beca turns to see a woman in a sharp black pantsuit and heels, her wavy red hair pulled into a bun, with the bluest eyes she's ever seen.

"Can you direct me to—"

"I'm sorry," Beca cuts her off, trying her best to look apologetic. "I'm running late for something really important. If you go in the front door, the lady at the desk can help you."

It's her lucky day—Aubrey isn't yet in the conference when Beca slips in five minutes after the meeting was supposed to start. The room is filled with detectives and officers. She spots Jesse seated at the table; he's saved her a seat.

"Thanks, dude," Beca says, sliding into the chair, trying to catch her breath. "Where's Aubrey?"

Jesse shrugs. "Not sure. Maybe meeting the FBI person?"

"Well, whatever's keeping her totally saved my ass," Beca says, digging in her bag for a notepad and pen.

At that moment, Aubrey strolls through the door, the woman from the parking lot following her into the room. Beca now notices the gun in the holster attached to her hip. "Good morning, everyone. I'm very pleased to introduce to you Special Agent Chloe Beale."

"Shit," Beca whispers, sinking lower in her chair.

"What?" Jesse hisses back.

"I totally just blew her off in the parking lot. She must have been asking me how to get here."

Jesse lets out a snort (which, thankfully, Aubrey doesn't hear). "Nice one."

Beca smacks his leg under the table.

"Agent Beale has graciously flown in from the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime at the FBI headquarters in Quantico," Aubrey continues, "where she is a part of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I've sent her the case files on the King murders and Agent Beale has compiled a behavioral profile on the type of person who committed these homicides."

"A profile?" Jesse scoffs under his breath. "That stuff's not even science." Beca just shrugs in response.

"I trust you will listen attentively and respectfully," Aubrey says, her face stern. "Agent Beale, the floor is yours."

Chloe steps forward, hands clasped in front of her. She gives everyone in the room an easy smile. "Good morning. I'm Agent Chloe Beale. Like Lieutenant Posen said, I've put together a profile based on the case files, and I hope this will help you all in your investigation," she says pleasantly.

"I'd like to preface by saying profiles don't identify particular subjects in the way DNA or fingerprints do—rather, they are an investigative tool to narrow down suspects by describing what  _type_ of person would have committed this crime."

Chloe's face takes on a serious look. "Now, I'm going to dictate this verbally. I trust you all will take detailed notes.

"Now, normally, I would say that a crime like this may have had a revenge aspect to it, if one of the parents were involved in gangs or drugs. But from interviews, it appears that this hypothesis has no basis; no one interviewed mentioned even minor conflicts. And nothing of value was missing from the house, so we can rule out robbery as a motive.

"This family was killed in a very personal way—the killer had to physically touch each of his victims, as opposed to a more impersonal method, such as using a gun. Based on this and the young girl's state of undress, I think that this crime was sexually motivated."  
There are a few gasps and murmurs around the room, but Aubrey silences them with a look.

"The unknown subject, or UNSUB as it is known in Bureau speak, is a white male—people tend to kill within their own races—in his late twenties, but probably in his thirties. The level of planning and sophistication in this crime, such as the facts that he brought supplies with him and left virtually no physical evidence, suggests this. He is an extremely well-organized person, fixated on detail. The UNSUB is what we would call an organized killer.

"The UNSUB is lonely, alienated, and withdrawn. A real inadequate type. I wouldn't expect him to have any meaningful or lasting relationships with women. In fact, I wouldn't expect him to have ever had a normal heterosexual relationship. His life is dominated by fantasy; he experiences intense fear that he is not 'normal' and therefore killed to cope with his disorder in an attempt to escape from his own fantasies."

Chloe, whom at this point had been pacing the front of the room, pauses. "By these standards, I would fully expect him to kill again."

 _Wonderful_ , Beca thinks sarcastically. She can only imagine how intense Aubrey is going to become after this meeting is over.

"The UNSUB's victims can be either male or female, adults or children, because the point of his 'activities'"—Chloe holds her manicured fingers up in air quotes—"is to exercise complete control over his victims, to dominate them completely. His victims represent his own feelings of helplessness and hopelessness. He's a sadist all the way.

"He probably grew up in a dysfunctional or broken family. He was raised by an overbearing mother who was inconsistent in her discipline. His father was either passive and distant or not even in the picture. I expect he would have been an average student in school."

Chloe pauses to take a sip of water from the bottle Aubrey supplied for her. Beca watches Chloe's lips close over the neck of the bottle, her throat bobbing as she swallows. Beca catches herself staring and looks away, feeling creepy.

"The UNSUB might have a past record," Chloe continues, wiping her mouth. "Assault, breaking and entering, that sort of thing. He may have a history of voyeuristic activities and may have an accompanying arrest record.

"The manner in which the UNSUB killed makes me think that he does some sort of work with his hands, such as mechanical work or construction. He probably lives within five miles of the King residence—in other words, his comfort zone. Staying in an area he knows well allows him to plan better and lowers the risk of the crime."

Taking a breath, Chloe turns to address the group. "Does anyone have an questions?"

Beca takes the pause to roll out her neck and shake out her hand, which is aching from furiously scribbling notes. The side of her hand is smudged with ink from dragging across the page.

There are scattered murmurs throughout the room. "If this is a sexual crime, why was there no evidence of assault on the little girl?" someone asks from the back.

"That would link back to the feelings of inadequacy," Chloe answers. "The UNSUB has such poor self-esteem that he can't even penetrate a young child. It's most likely that he was masturbating at the scene and was careful to avoid leaving semen."

A smattering of disgusted noises fills the room. Someone else calls out, "Why do you think that Alison was the only victim who was gagged?"

"I believe that it was part of a fantasy that the UNSUB was acting out. I think that Alison was the primary target, and while it was gratifying to the UNSUB to exercise control over the whole family, he also killed them to get them out of the way."

"What about the t-shirt over Jack's head?" Jesse asks, half-raising his hand.

"It seems to me that the UNSUB couldn't bear to look at Jack as he died. He was the youngest, and rather small for his age. It may be that the killer couldn't justify his death to himself, even though he was killing three others to act out his sick fantasies," Chloe explains.

"How soon until this guy kills again?" Beca asks, forgetting that she's trying to avoid being identified from her earlier snafu.

Chloe raises one eyebrow slightly at her—and, yeah, Beca thinks she's been recognized. "I really don't know. It could be five minutes from now. Maybe in another year. Or I could be wrong and he may never kill again. In my experience, though, these types of guys can't resist coming back for more," Chloe says, shrugging one shoulder. "Any other questions?"

When she's met with silence, Aubrey steps forward. "Let's have a round of applause for Agent Beale." She pauses for the noise to die down. "Okay, you're all dismissed. Except for Swanson and Mitchell."  
"Damn," Jesse whispers, dropping back into his seat.

Once the room clears, Aubrey closes the door. "Agent Beale, this is Detective Jesse Swanson and Detective Beca Mitchell, from the homicide unit. They're the task force for this case."

"You call two people a task force?" Chloe asks (and Beca kind of loves her for the look that crosses Aubrey's face), laughing.

"There was a third, but the investigation slowed down and she was needed elsewhere," Aubrey says, voice clipped.

"By the way, you guys can call me Chloe," Chloe says, leaning forward and extending her hand.

"Jesse," Jesse says, shaking it firmly.

"I'm Beca," Beca mumbles awkwardly, blushing when Chloe gives her a knowing look. "We're, uh, we're happy to have you."

"Really? You were so overcome with happiness that you were late to my meeting?" Chloe teases. Or, at least, Beca  _thinks_ she's teasing. She's pretty sure she's teasing.

(Aubrey gives her a  _we'll-talk-about-this-later_  look that is definitely  _not_ a joke.)  
"Swanson and Mitchell and Detective Adams, the other detective whom I had to pull from the task force, have been the ones conducting the investigation. They're been working very hard," Aubrey tells Chloe, and it's probably the closest she's ever come to giving  _anyone_  a compliment.

"Wow," Chloe says, looking suitably impressed. "That's a lot of work for three people." ( _Is that a dig at Aubrey?_ Beca wonders.)

"Well, we're a small department," Jesse says.

"I'm in town through tomorrow," Chloe says. "Can I take you guys out for some drinks later?"

Beca and Jesse exchange looks. "Sure," Jesse answers, and Beca nods.

"I'm going to have to decline," Aubrey says apologetically, and Beca isn't surprised (she's not sure Aubrey's ever had alcohol in her life). "I have a couple of big reports that need to be done by tomorrow."

"We'll miss you," Chloe tells her, leaning forward to snag Beca's pen and notepad without preamble. She slides it back with a phone number scrawled across the bottom. "Give me a call when you get out."

* * *

"So we may have a serial killer on the loose,  _but_ we have a hot FBI agent's phone number."

Beca shoves at Jesse's shoulder as they walk down the hallway toward the offices. "That's inappropriate on so many levels."

"Don't tell me you don't want to tap that," Jesse teases.

"Who's tapping who?" Cynthia Rose asks from her desk as they enter the room.

"Hot FBI agent," Jesse answers, pulling off his jacket and dropping it over the back of his chair.

"No one's tapping anybody!" Beca insists.

"She gave Beca her number."  
"You got her number?" Cynthia Rose raises her eyebrows.

"No," Beca says. "Well, yes. Kind of. She wants to take us"—she gestures between herself, Jesse, and Cynthia Rose—"as in the whole task force, out for drinks later. That's it."

"Damn it," Cynthia Rose says disappointedly. "I can't go. I have to go do an interview at the jail for this drug case." She rolls her eyes.

Beca sits down at her desk, flipping aimlessly through the notes she took on Chloe's profile. "So now we have to back through every guy we interviewed and check him against the profile," she groans. "That's, like, seventy people."

"I'll do half and you do half?" Jesse offers, opening his laptop.

"Sure," Beca says, opening a folder and randomly pulling out half of the sheets of paper inside.

"Tomorrow we should probably go around the neighborhood again," Jesse says after a few minutes of working silently.

Beca clunks her head against her desk. "Don't remind me."

* * *

At some point—Beca's not quite sure when, but it's probably around guy twenty-nine—she's stopped paying attention entirely to what she's supposed to be reading, her eyes staring blankly at the pages as she gets lost in her own thoughts.

It takes Jesse three times to get her attention. "Be-ca," he calls, slowly and loudly, snapping his fingers in front of her face repeatedly.

Beca jumps. "Whoa, sorry. I totally spaced out."

"I can see that," Jesse says. "You wanna head out? It's after eight."

"Thank God." Beca rubs her temples with her fingertips, stuffing her papers into her bag as she stands.

"Where's the paper with super-hot FBI agent's number? I'll call her and tell her to meet us at Joe's," Jesse says, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"Don't call her that," Beca warns, fumbling in her bag for the correct notepad. When she finds it, she slaps it into his chest.

"Oh, feisty, are we?" Jesse laughs, dialing the phone. "Save some of that for Chloe."

"Why are you so crass?" Beca pushes open the door of the precinct, not bothering to hold it open for Jesse.

He doesn't answer her—instead giving Chloe directions to the bar—but he  _does_ flip her off with a brilliant smile.

"Yep, okay. Yes. Beca's  _very_ excited to see you," he says into the phone. "See you soon, Agent Beale. Right. Chloe. See you in a few."  
"I'm gonna run you over with my car," Beca threatens as he hangs up.

"In front of a police station?"

"It has less to do with me getting away with it and more with you dying," Beca says as she unlocks her car.

Jesse just laughs at her as he climbs into his car.

* * *

Chloe is already seated at a little table when they arrive a few minutes later, a beer bottle in her hands. Her red hair is settled around her shoulders in waves, released from its earlier bun. She wears jeans and a t-shirt. The only consistency in her appearance since the meeting is the gun in its holster on her hip.

Jesse holds up a hand in greeting and Chloe waves them over, smiling brightly.

"Hey!" Chloe greets. Beca looks at her, trying to picture her running through Hogan's Alley or bent over a lab table at the Academy. (She can't.)

"Hi," Beca says.

"What's up?" Jesse climbs onto a stool, Beca following suit.

"Can I get you guys something to drink?" Chloe asks.

"Beer?" Jesse looks to Beca for confirmation, and she nods. They don't usually get anything else here; the liquor is watered-down and overpriced.

"Damn," Jesse says, watching Chloe walk away. "Are you  _sure_ you don't want to ta—" He's cut off by the ringing of his phone before Beca can tell him to  _shut the fuck up_.

"Hello? Yeah. Okay. No, it's—yeah. I'll be right there. Bye." After hanging up he tips his head back and groans. "I seriously hate this job."

"What's wrong?" Chloe asks, approaching the table with two beer bottles in her hands.

"Drive-by," Jesse says. "I gotta go."

"Believe me, I understand," Chloe laughs.

"Thanks for the beer. Sorry I couldn't stay long enough to drink it." Jesse shakes Chloe's hand, nods to Beca, and turns to leave, muttering, "He just  _had_ to shoot him."

"And then there were two," Chloe jokes.

Suddenly, Beca finds herself feeling a bit nervous. "I'm sorry for blowing you off this morning," she blurts, then grimaces internally.  _Smooth_.

Chloe starts laughing, and it doesn't really make Beca feel any better. "Don't worry about it. I've had my fair share of professional blunders, trust me."

"You?" Beca raises her eyebrows in surprise.

"Yes, me. One time, when I was still in training, I was running late to a class. I was walking really quickly, and I tripped, spilling my coffee all over some guy's shoes," Chloe says, leaning closer. "Guess who that guy was."

"Who?" Beca asks, feeling unnerved at the close proximity.

"Robert Mueller."

Beca gasps, eyes widening. " _No_."

"Feel better now?"

"Uh, yeah."

"So if you ever feel like you've fucked up," Chloe says, "remember that at least you didn't spill coffee on the director of the FBI."

"I feel so much better about my life right now." Beca takes a long pull of her beer. "At least he's not the director anymore?"

"I can't say I wasn't a bit relieved when he stepped down," Chloe says in a low voice, like someone might overhear.

Beca watches as Chloe's tongue pokes out to wet her lips for a moment before she realizes that she's staring— _again_ —and sits up, clearing her throat and taking several gulps of her beer.

"So, Beca," Chloe says, smirking in a way that makes Beca suspect she's been caught, "tell me about yourself. How did you get into law enforcement?"

"My dad was a cop," Beca explains. "I can't remember ever wanting to be anything else. He made me go to college first," she says with an eye roll. "So I did the whole criminal justice thing, but this is the only job I've ever had."

"I thought I wanted to be a lawyer," Chloe says, laughing a bit. "Turns out being a lawyer sucks. I sucked it up for a while, but I eventually decided to apply for the Bureau."

"Oh," is all Beca can think to say. She's always been horrible at small talk.

There's a beat of silence.

"Are you okay?" Chloe ask gently. "You seem tense. I know how stressful this investigation must be." She puts her hand on Beca's arm, and Beca feels her heartbeat pick up a bit. Which is stupid. Because she's just touching her arm like a normal person.

"I'm fine," Beca assures her quickly. "I'm totally fine. Just… a little tired." She drains what's left of her beer.

"You empty?" Chloe asks.

"Uh, yeah, I guess," Beca says. "But you don't have to buy me anoth—"

"Let get you another one?" Chloe offers, the end of her sentence rising in inflection like a question.

(It's probably not a good idea to drink to excess with a stranger who carries a gun—but two beers isn't drunk, right?)

"Oh. Um. Sure."

* * *

Beca's not drunk Well, not  _really_ drunk. Just it-would-probably-be-frowned-upon-to-drive-home buzzed. (But only because she's a cop.) Teetering on the edge of not quite having full control over her mouth.

"I have to pee," she announces.

Or maybe she's way past that.

(How much did she drink again?)

"I'll come with you," Chloe says, and it's really not necessary, but Beca's brain is a bit slow right now so it's easier just to shrug and acquiesce.

The bathroom is empty when they enter; Beca heads for a stall while Chloe just kind of stands near the sinks, in front of the paper towel dispenser.

Beca has to pause for a moment when she stands back up, bracing one hand on the wall. (She's definitely going to need to take a cab home tonight.) When she comes out of the stall Chloe's still just standing there; Beca feels her eyes on her back as she washes her hands.

When she turns back around, Chloe's till blocking the paper towel dispenser. "Um, excuse me," Beca says, gesturing with one wet hand.

Chloe looks at her for a long moment before stepping forward, away from the dispenser but into Beca's space.

And then she presses her lips to Beca's—rather hard.

Beca's noise of surprise is muffled by the kiss, and her still-dripping hands flounder for a moment before clutching in the back on Chloe's shirt. Beca's sober enough to still have the little voice in the back of her head warning that this probably isn't a  _great_ idea—but it's not like it's the worst mistake she'll ever make in her life, right?

(Oh God, now she's the girl who makes out with strangers in bar bathrooms.)

Chloe's lips taste like beer when Beca swipes her tongue across them. As their tongues meet, Beca rakes her hands through red waves, her wet hands snagging on Chloe's hair. Chloe whines a little bit in pain, and when Beca pauses to whisper a quick "Sorry!" she takes the opportunity to slip her tongue into Beca's mouth.

It's a little weird to make out with someone while their gun is digging into your hip, but Beca finds it strangely hot as she sucks slowly on Chloe's lower lip.

They're moving backwards—well, Beca is moving backwards—towards the sinks. Chloe reaches for the backs of Beca's thighs, lifting her onto the counter like Beca has seen in numerous bad romantic comedies.

(What they don't show in movies: Bathroom counters are usually wet. Beca thanks God she's wearing black pants.)

Chloe tongues down Beca's neck, placing open-mouthed kisses on the exposed skin, pausing to nip at a spot just below her ear, sucking hard and then smoothing her tongue across the bruise. Beca's legs tighten around Chloe's hips, and she can't help the moan that falls from her mouth.

Chloe's hands have just begun to wander—her cool fingertips pressing against the skin just underneath Beca's shirt—when the door opens.

They break apart, but, really, there's no disguising what they've been up to. Beca awkwardly slides off the counter, readjusting her shirt, as the woman smiles at them apologetically and heads for one of the stalls.

"We should probably…" Beca gestures to the door. She checks the screen of her phone as they exit. "Shit, it's late."

"I should let you go," Chloe says, apologetic, as if Beca hadn't just voluntarily stuck her tongue in her mouth. "Do you want me to call you a cab?"

"No, that's okay, I can do it," Beca says. "There are always cabs driving around this street this time of night. I'll make Jesse drive me over here in the morning to get my car."

There's another moment of silence, of them just staring at each other.

Beca's a bit rusty on the goodbye protocol for someone you've known less than twenty-four hours but with whom you've made out extensively.

"Um," Beca says. "Thanks. For, you know. Buying me drinks."

"No problem," Chloe says, smiling. If it weren't for the mussed hair and swollen lips, she would look rather young and innocent.

The cool night air feels good on Beca's heated skin as they leave the bar. Already, there are a few taxis milling by the curb.

"Good luck catching this guy," Chloe says. "Call me if you need anything."

"Thanks. Good luck," Beca echoes, then remembers that she doesn't really have any reason to wish Chloe luck. "With your… life," she finishes awkwardly.

Chloe smiles at her before pulling her into a quick hug. "Get home safe."

"Okay," Beca says. "Good night."

"Good night."

* * *

Just because Beca wasn't drunk enough to forget her actions the previous night doesn't mean she wasn't drunk enough to have a hangover.

Wonderful.

She's fumbling tiredly with the coffee maker when her phone rings. The screen identifies the caller as Aubrey.

"Hello?" she answers, trying her best to sound like she didn't roll out of bed three minutes ago, dead tired and hungover.

"Mitchell," Aubrey says, bypassing any sort of greeting, "how quickly can you get over to Broad Street?"

"What?" Beca asks, brain still foggy from alcohol and sleep. "Why? What happened?"

Aubrey takes an audibly deep breath.

"There's another victim."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The profile Chloe presents is very heavily based on the one John Douglas composed on Dennis Rader, which can be found in Inside the Mind of BTK. (Again, I'm not a criminal psychologist or a behavioral scientist.)


	3. Chapter 3

_"There's another victim."_

"Wait, what?" Beca suddenly finds herself much more awake. "From our guy?"

"I can't say that definitively without physical evidence," Aubrey says evenly, and Beca wonders how anyone sounds that eloquent at eight in the morning, "but I suspect yes."

"Shit," Beca curses, poking at the coffee maker in the hopes that it will work faster. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Aubrey doesn't even bother to say goodbye before she hands up the phone.

Beca immediately dials Jesse.  _This is so not the day to not have my car_ , she thinks as the line rings.

"Did you hear?" Jesse asks when he picks up.

"Yeah," Beca says. "I just got off the phone with Aubrey. Have you left yet?"

"No, but I was about to."

"Can you maybe swing by and get me, too? I kind of took a cab home last night." Impatient, Beca decides that there's enough coffee made for her not to drop dead and turns the machine off, fumbling for a mug in the cupboard.

"You took a cab home last night?" Jesse repeats, and Beca can just  _feel_ the shit-eating grin that's crossing his face right now. "Did you and Agent Beale play good cop, bad cop?"

"I'm hanging up now, Jesse."

* * *

Beca is just jamming her feet into her shoes when Jesse pulls up outside of her building. She knows she looks like crap—no makeup, hair pulled into a scraggly ponytail, red eyes—but it's not like she's going to dress up for a dead person.

Just in case, she slips her sunglasses into her pocket.

"You look like you got hit by a bus," Jesse says when Beca gets into the car.

"Great, thanks."

"So what did you do?" Jesse asks, weaving through the residential streets. "Get drunk and have wild sex?"

"No," Beca answers, crossing her arms, turning away.

"Really?" Jesse challenges, sounding smug. "Because that nice hickey on your neck suggests otherwise."

_Shit_. Beca slaps a hand to her neck, flooded by memories of Chloe's tongue on her neck, breath hot in her ear.

"Bus-ted," Jesse singsongs. "What did you two do—make out in the bathroom?" He turns to glance at Beca, whose face is rapidly turning red. "Oh my God, you  _did_!"

"Will you shut up?" Beca hisses, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I already have a headache and you're not helping."

"Nice job, dude!" Jesse holds his hand up, presumably for a high five. At Beca's glare, he quickly lowers it.

"Can we stop talking about this?" Beca grumbles. "I'm entitled to do stupid shit every once in a while. It's not like I'll ever see her again."

"As much as I want to hear about every detail, I'll stop," Jesse says, parking at the curb behind a Barden PD SUV. "Because I'm a nice person."

"Thanks," Beca mutters sarcastically, getting out of the car.

The property is teeming with people when Beca and Jesse approach, the house marked off with yellow crime scene tape. Again, Aubrey meets them on the driveway.

"Great, you guys are here," Aubrey says, half to herself. She hands each of them a pair of fabric booties, similar to those worn by surgical staff. "The techs are on their way. I assume you want to take a look?"

Beca nods. "Okay," she says, taking the booties, Jesse doing the same. They're about to head into the house when a voice calls out behind them.

"Hey!"

Beca turns to see Chloe striding quickly toward them, dressed in a pair of black dress pants and a button-down.

_Fuck_.

(Beca just  _knows_ Jesse is smirking at her.)

"I called Agent Beale," Aubrey tells them, and Beca bites back a sarcastic  _duh_.

"Good morning," Chloe says, reaching out to shake each of their hands. She looks every bit as awake and refreshed as Beca feels grimy and exhausted—eyes bright and hair looking soft and shiny.

Beca decides that she hates Chloe Beale.

"Hello," Aubrey says, giving Chloe's hand a particularly hard shake, pulling another pair of booties from her pocket. "I'm so glad you could make it. Do you think you could take a look around and tell us if you think this is the same killer as the King homicides?"

Chloe nods authoritatively. "Yes, I can give you my opinion."

"Excellent," Aubrey says. "The victim is thirty-one-year-old Madeline Childress. She was found about an hour ago after she didn't show up to work."

"Where does she work?" Chloe asks, pulling a notepad and pen from her pocket.

"As a nurse at St. Mark's Memorial," Aubrey says. "She was supposed to work the early morning shift. The co-worker who came to check on her says she's usually very punctual. Her body was found in the bedroom. The EMTs thought they could maybe revive her, but she was pronounced dead."

Someone calls to Aubrey from the end of the driveway. "You can go on in," she says before excusing herself.

"Good to see you again, Chloe," Jesse says after a beat of awkward silence. "Sorry I had to rush out last night—I didn't miss anything, did I?"

Beca makes a mental note to kill him later—slowly.

"Good to see you, too," Chloe says pleasantly, ignoring his question. "I'm happy to be of service."

"Let's go inside," Beca interjects, smiling tightly.

The trio ducks under the crime scene tape, pausing on the stoop to slip on the booties.

The foyer and the adjacent living room appear undisturbed. Beca peers around the corner, into the kitchen, but that too looks normal. She takes a deep breath before mounting the stairs, Jesse and Chloe on her heels.

The second door is presumably the crime scene, because all of the other doors upstairs are closed. Cautiously, Beca enters the room.

Looking at dead bodies never really gets easier. When she'd first started, Beca assumed that it would. But her breath still catches in her throat, something in her chest clenching as her heart rate picks up.

It's oddly relieving in a way, though—in the face of so much depravity, reminds her of her humanity.

The body— _Madeline_ , Beca reminds herself, as she always tries to remember to humanize the victims—is laid flat on her back on the bed. Her legs are splayed slightly open, one of her arms bent, the fist clenched. She is nude except for her socks and two white adhesive EKG leads on her chest, presumably from when the paramedics thought they could revive her. A small pile of clothing lies on the floor in the corner of the room, the pants inside-out as though someone had ripped them from Madeline's body.

Beca steps closer, peering into the woman's face, splotchy red and blue from hemorrhaging and cyanosis. Blood caked her nose and mouth, and an ugly rest-colored abrasion circled her neck from the cord with which the killer had apparently strangled her—which lay cut open (probably by the paramedics) on either side of her neck. Another strip of cloth with a knot tied in it is on the pillow next to her.

"That looks like the same cord used in the King murders," Jesse comments quietly, and Beca nods. She steps away from the bed to let Jesse and Chloe get a closer look, her stomach turning.

Chloe peers into Madeline's face as if searching for something, biting her lip and scribbling on the little notepad in her hand.

Beca jumps when she feels a hand on her shoulder, but it's only Jesse. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low, as if Madeline is simply asleep.

"Yeah." Beca sighs. "It's just… you know."

"Yeah," Jesse echoes.

They watch as Chloe examines the hand that isn't in a fist, getting as close as she dares without actually touching the body.

"She has a couple of broken fingernails," Chloe says, pointing with the end of her pen. "She must have put up a fight."

"Good," Beca says under her breath. Jesse squeezes her shoulder.

"Hopefully we'll get some DNA under the fingernails," Jesse says.

Chloe stands back up, flipping the notepad closed and pocketing it. "Are we good here?" she asks.

"Yep," Beca says, following Chloe out of the room.

* * *

Back outside, they find Aubrey on the lawn waiting for them.

"Are you finished?" she asks. Everyone nods. "Ms. Childress's coworker—the one who called police—is back at the station waiting to be interviewed."

"Okay, we'll head there now," Jesse says as Aubrey is pulled away by the arrival of the crime scene technicians.

"Could I catch a ride with one of you?" Chloe asks. "I took a cab here."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Jesse says. "You can ride with Beca." Beca shoves Jesse hard in the back and he stumbles, laughing.

Luckily, Chloe catches onto the joke and laughs, too, but Beca feels the tips of her ears burning.

The short ride is quiet, and despite the fact that they shared a laugh a few minutes ago, the air is heavy.

Beca's been a homicide detective for several years now, but the majority of the murders she's seen have a clear motive—drugs, gangs, domestic disputes. No murder is ever easy to investigate, but these seemingly motiveless murders—murders for  _pleasure_ —are particularly disturbing.

Beca thanks God that she doesn't have any kids of her own yet.

"About how far away is Childress's house from the Kings'?" Chloe asks from the backseat, leaning forward so her face is inches away from Beca's. She suddenly feels a bit claustrophobic, and cracks the window open a bit. It helps.

"Um," Jesse says, thinking. "Maybe five miles? Six? I can show you on a map later."

"That would be great," Chloe says, sitting back in her seat. Beca lets herself breathe again.

The station is rather quiet when they arrive; presumably, most of the officers and detectives are either at the Childress house or covering for those who are. They're directed to one of the interview rooms where Childress's coworker is already seated, accompanied by a young officer who excuses himself from the room when Beca, Jesse, and Chloe arrive.

A couple of years ago, someone had the bright idea to outfit the interview rooms with Keurigs so exhausted detectives could get their caffeine fixes without keeping interviewees waiting.

Aubrey had gone on a ten-minute tirade about this "inappropriate usage of the budget" but was trumped by the department's coffee addiction.

It's become kind of a running joke in the surrounding counties that the Keurig instruction booklet doubles as the Barden PD's interview protocol.

After introducing herself and shaking the petite Asian woman's hand, Beca heads straight for the Keurig as Jesse and Chloe seat themselves, the half-cup of coffee she downed this morning having not been nearly enough.

"Can I get you a cup of coffee, Ms…?"

"Lilia Yin," she says, and she smiles, but her eyes are red-rimmed and slightly puffy, and it's obvious she's been crying. "And no, thank you, I'm fine."

Beca busies herself setting up the machine before seating herself on Jesse's left. She pulls out a notepad and pen from her bag, although Jesse has already set up a tape recorder on the table.

"Is there anything we can get you before we begin?" Jesse asks. Lilia shakes her head.

"Can you describe to me how you found Madeline Childress this morning?" Beca asks, trying for a gentle tone.

"Well, we both work at St. Mark's Memorial Hospital. We're nurses," Lilia says, looking at her hands as she speaks. "We were both working the early shift, which was supposed to start at six am. Madeline was usually there early, so it was weird that she would be late. I figured maybe she was just running late or overslept or something, but when she was in by seven, I got worried. I called her a few times, but she didn't answer, so I went to her house to check on her.

"She didn't answer when I rang the bell, so I tried turning the knob, just to see, and it was open. I yelled for her, but no one answered, which is what made me really nervous because Madeline always remembers to lock her car or her locker and stuff. I just  _felt_ like there was something wrong, you know? So I went upstairs and…"

Lilia's voice cracks, and she takes a deep breath. Chloe, seated closest to Lilia, reaches out and puts her hand on her arm. "Take your time," she says.

"And that's when I found her," Lilia finishes. She sniffles a bit.

"Did Madeline live alone?" Beca asks.

"No," Lilia says, "she has a husband. Had. She had a husband. He's in Alabama on business this week. Oh, God." She presses a hand to her mouth. "Has anyone told him yet?"

"That will be taken care of, don't worry," Jesse says.

"Do you know when he left?" Beca asks.

"Last night, I think," Lilia answers.

_He probably staked out her house_ , Beca thinks. She notices Chloe looking at her, and she can tell she's thinking the same thing.

"Was there anyone in Madeline's life that would want to hurt her?" Beca asks. "An ex, a disgruntled coworker or patient?"

"No," Lilia says emphatically. "Everyone loved her. She was so good with her patients and she's been married for seven years, I think."

"Have you noticed anyone at or around the hospital who might be acting strangely?" Chloe jumps in as Beca turns away briefly to collect her now-steaming mug from the Keuring. "Maybe someone you haven't seen before but you suddenly began seeing him a lot?"

"Not that I remember. I'm usually very busy when I'm working so I'm not sure if I would have noticed," Lilia says apologetically. "There are also a lot of patients there long-term so it would be hard to tell."

"Did Madeline ever mention that she felt unsafe, or like someone was watching her?" Chloe reaches up and tucks a stray red lock of hair behind her ear. Beca's eyes track the motion, remembering how it felt to run her hands through Chloe's hair.

"Um…" Lilia pauses, thinking. "No, I don't think so. We were more like friendly acquaintances than friends, so I don't know if she would tell me anyway."

Chloe sits back in her seat, seemingly finished with her questioning.

"Thank you so much for your time," Beca says, standing and extending her hand for another shake. "We're very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Lilia says, standing as well.

"I'll show you out," Jesse offers, holding the door as they exit the room. He and Lilia disappear down the hallway, leaving Beca and Chloe alone.

"So…" Beca says, rubbing awkwardly at her arm. "When does your flight leave?"

"Trying to get rid of me?" Chloe asks, looking at Beca seriously.

"No, no, I wasn't—I'm not—" Beca stammers, afraid she'd truly offended Chloe.

Chloe breaks into a laugh, and Beca can't help but feel annoyed. "I'm joking, Mitchell. Calm down."

"You're the worst," Beca grumbles, feeling her cheeks heat.

"It was supposed to be…" Chloe looks at her watch. "An hour ago."

"You could have said you needed to leave," Beca tells her, gesturing for Chloe to follow her to the offices.

"This was more important." Chloe shrugs, and in doing so, accidentally brushes her arm against Beca's. Her skin tingles.

There's no one else in the office when they arrive, so Beca steals Cynthia Rose's chair and sets it out across from her desk for Chloe to sit.

"Thanks," Chloe says with a small smile.

They sit in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. Chloe bites her lower lip, and Beca busies herself with her notes to keep herself from staring.

"Beca," Chloe says softly, "about last night—"

At that moment, Jesse enters the room, followed by Aubrey. Beca lets out a breath, but she's unsure if it's one of relief or disappointment. She glances at Chloe, whose face is set in a pleasant smile.

"Did you get any info from the coworker?" Aubrey asks as Jesse seats himself at his desk.

"No, nothing enlightening," Beca says, toying with her pen.

Aubrey sighs and turns to Chloe. "I know you haven't really had a moment to process, but what are your thoughts? Do you think this could be the same guy?"

Chloe nods. "I believe so. It's the same cause of death as Alison and Jane King, and the cord used on Madeline Childress looks like the same kind used in those murders. The scene presented as very organized, and from the interview with Lilia Yin it sounds like the UNSUB could have staked out her house. I'd like to know if Madeline was sexually assaulted before I say anything definitively."

"Yes, and we'll have the lab compare the cords from both scenes to see if they're the same," Aubrey says. "Now, if you don't mind, could I speak to you for a moment? In my office?"

"Of course." Chloe stands and follows Aubrey out of the room, leaving Beca and Jesse alone.

"Hope I didn't interrupt another make-out session," Jesse says. Beca throws her pen at him, aiming for his head, but Jesse ducks just in time. "Hey!"

"Do you ever shut up?" Beca asks, annoyed.

"Nope." Jesse's grin is obnoxious, and she kind of wants to punch him in the face.

"Why don't you focus on your own life?" Beca grumbles.

"Um," Jesse says, leaning back in his chair, "because I didn't make out with someone I barely know in a bar last night. So I'd rather talk about yours."

"Do you know how easy it would be for me to stage your murder to look like it was this guy?" Beca asks, tapping a finger against her notes.

"You threaten to kill me an awful lot for a homicide detective."

Beca's about to throw another pen when Aubrey and Chloe come back.

"I have requested that Chloe stay on with us for a little while," Aubrey announces without segue (in the way she always does). "It's been cleared with the Bureau."

"For how long?" Beca asks, doing her best to ignore the shit-eating grin on Jesse's face.

"Until I'm no longer useful," Chloe says with a laugh.

"Oh," Beca says. "Great."

"Beca, I'd like to ask you for a favor," Aubrey says, very seriously.

Beca has the feeling she won't like where this is going. "What?"

"Obviously we don't have the funds to board Agent Beale indefinitely, and I don't expect her to pay for a hotel out of pocket," Aubrey says—and, yeah, Beca doesn't like where this is going. "Do you mind hosting?"

_What am I supposed to say?_ Beca thinks.  _She's standing right there._

"Um," Beca says, because Chloe is smiling at her softly and Aubrey is looking at her expectantly and Jesse is laughing quietly to himself, "sure."

She's so fucked.

* * *

"So this is, like, the living room. This is a closet. This is the bathroom. This is—"

"Let me guess," Chloe says amusedly. "The kitchen?"

It's nearly ten at night when Beca and Chloe make it back to Beca's apartment (after Jesse took them back to the bar for Beca to retrieve her car, of course), and she's exhausted. And also kind of anxious, because the last time she was alone with Chloe, they practically had sex in a public space and haven't spoken about it since.

"You guessed it," Beca says. "I don't have a ton of food, but we can go grocery shopping tomorrow."

"Great, thank you."

"I'll grab you a towel," Beca says, leading Chloe down the hallway. "And this is my bedroom. You can sleep in here; I'll take the couch."

"No, you're already hosting me against your will," Chloe says, accepting the towel Beca pulls down from a shelf in the closet. "I don't mind sleeping on the couch."

"You're kinda killing my whole good-hostess thing, Beale," Beca says, taking one of the pillows off of her bed and going back to the closet to grab a couple of blankets and a sheet.

"Sorry to disappoint."

Chloe disappears into the bathroom as Beca goes into the living room. She spreads the sheet over the couch, fluffing the pillow and shaking out the blankets. When she finishes she just kind of stands there, because she's now  _sharing an apartment with Chloe Beale_.

She hears the bathroom door click open and jumps. After a moment Chloe appears in the threshold, wearing flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt, her hair loose around her shoulders, and for a second, Beca forgets how to breathe.

"Ta-da," she finally says, gesturing to the couch-bed.

"Beautiful," Chloe laughs. Then she steps into Beca's personal space, and for one horrifying, wonderful second, Beca thinks she's going to kiss her. But all she does is wrap her arms around Beca, whispering, "Thank you" in Beca's ear.

"Oh, um…" Beca says, awkwardly patting Chloe's back. "No problem."

"No, really," Chloe says, her breath ticking Beca's ear. "You didn't really have a choice, and I appreciate it. A lot."

"Okay," Beca says, because Chloe's still hugging her, and it's really hard to make words when her breasts are pushed against Beca's own and her hand is rubbing circles on Beca's back.

It seems like forever until Chloe finally pulls back (although in reality it was probably only fifteen seconds). She doesn't pull back all the way; she rests her hands on Beca's shoulders, and then one hand slides up to cup Beca's cheek and Beca  _can't breathe_.

_Don't look at her lips_ , Beca thinks as Chloe's face nears.

_Fuck. Failed step one_.

Chloe pauses just before their lips touch, whispering, "Is this a bad idea?"

"Probably," Beca gasps back.

Chloe presses her lips to Beca's, other hand slipping to her waist, briefly and sweetly. "Okay," she breathes when they part.

Beca blinks her eyes open when she feels Chloe finally pull away, her body burning where Chloe had been pressed against it.

Chloe lies down on the couch, resting her head against the pillow and pulling the blankets around her. It's disgustingly domesticated, and Beca feels her heart flutter in her chest.

"Uh, good night," Beca says, after a moment of staring.

"Good night."


	4. Chapter 4

Beca wakes up very confused.

Her first thought is  _Why does my apartment smell like eggs?_

And then she remembers—because the reason is in her kitchen, leaning over a skillet, singing to herself when Beca stumbles in still bleary-eyed from sleep.

"Good morning!" Chloe chirps, looking relaxed and refreshed, hair falling in gentle waves over her shoulders. (Beca kind of expects a team of bluebirds to be helping her cook.)

_Of course she's a morning person._

"Hey," Beca says, rubbing at one of her eyes as she pokes at the coffee maker, which is surprisingly already full of coffee.

"How did you sleep?" Chloe asks, pushing the eggs around the pan with a spatula.

"Fine," Beca mumbles. "Was the couch okay?" she asks, realizing she probably should ask.

"It was perfectly fine, thank you." Chloe gives her a smile far too bright for this hour of the morning. "Where are your plates?"

Beca points to a cabinet across the room with a grunt, wrapping her hands around the steaming mug and taking a long sip.

"I made eggs," Chloe says, dividing sad eggs evenly between two plates as two slices of toast pop out of the toaster. "And toast."

"I can see that," Beca says, one eyebrow raised as she watches Chloe putter around her kitchen. "I don't usually have anything but coffee for breakfast."

Chloe frowns. "You should eat something."

"Um, okay," Beca concedes, because Chloe is looking at her so earnestly, plate of food clutched in her hands as she bites her lip. "I mean, since you went to all that trouble."

Chloe grins at her, putting the plates on Beca's tiny kitchen table and opening a few drawers until she finds the silverware.

Beca stands leaning against the counter, amused. "You have a habit of making yourself at home. Did you know that?"

"Yeah," Chloe says, gesturing with her hand for Beca to come sit.

"Wow," Beca says, sliding into her seat and looking at the perfectly arranged food on her plate. "I haven't had someone cook me breakfast in… a really long time."

Chloe looks at her for a moment, seeming to be considering her words. "How long?" she asks.

"Uh…" Beca stares at her toast, trying to remember the last time she had had anyone who wasn't Jesse in her apartment. "Two years? Three?"

Chloe just nods, and they eat together in a comfortable silence. It feels weird, because Beca hasn't really eaten breakfast with anyone other than her coworkers since… well, since her last relationship, and the whole thing feels so domesticated that it kind of makes her chest hurt.

She's also trying really, really hard not to imagine doing this for the rest of her life.

"Is everything okay?" Chloe asks.

"What?"

"You're just staring at your food," Chloe points out slowly. "Is it okay?"

"Oh," Beca says, a little bit too loudly. "No." She winces. "I mean yes. Everything is fine. I just spaced out."

"Okay," Chloe says, looking a bit amused as she stands to clear her plate. "I'm all set in the bathroom and stuff if you need to get ready."

"Thanks," Beca says, even though her morning routine really only consists of attempting to tame her hair and putting on some eyeliner.

Beca kind of feels like she's been picked up and dropped into another universe, because Chloe is standing by the door with her bag when Beca's ready to leave, and she can't help but feel like she's taking a five-year-old to her first day of kindergarten.

She also kind of feels like she's married to that five-year-old, which makes the whole thing even more confusing.

* * *

Beca makes a mental note to never,  _ever_ , let Chloe pick the radio station again.

First of all, Chloe had to listen to ten seconds of  _every single station_ three times before finally settling on a top-40 one.

And then there was the singing. Like, full-on, I'm-drunk-and-singing-karaoke singing. Despite the fact that it's eight in the morning and they're both stone-cold sober.

Beca's never been more grateful to see the precinct.

"Good morning, sunshine," Jesse greets her as they enter the office. "How was your night?"

"Fine," Beca says, giving him a warning look.

"Beca is a wonderful host," Chloe says, putting her bag on the "desk" Aubrey had set up for her, which is really just a folding table and a chair.

"I'll bet she is." Jesse waggles his eyebrows, and Beca smacks him on the arm once Chloe's back is turned.

"Have we heard back from the lab yet on the fiber analysis of those cords?" Chloe asks, and Beca gives Jesse one final  _look_ before opening her laptop and checking her email.

"Um…" she says, scrolling through the unread messages. "Yes." Her eyes scan the dense wording before finally finding what she's looking for. "It's a match."

There's a moment of silence. "Guess we really do have a serial killer," Jesse says.

"Shit." Beca leans back in her seat. It's not like she hadn't already pretty well known, but hearing it confirmed makes it all feel very real.

"It probably won't make anybody feel any better," Chloe says, twirling a pen between her fingers, "but the more this guy kills, the more clues we'll have, and the easier it will be to find him."

Beca rubs her hands over her face. "But how many more do we have to sacrifice?"

"Do we have autopsy results?" Chloe asks.

Beca turns back to her emails. "Yes," she says, and Chloe comes to stand behind her and read over her shoulder. She smells fruity, like Beca's shampoo. It's a bit unnerving.

Chloe peers at the screen, muttering under her breath. "Cause of death… strangulation… Aha! No evidence of sexual assault."

Beca nods, holding onto the tiny feeling of relief. "This is consistent with your profile, yes?" she asks, looking back at Chloe, whose face is only inches away from hers.

"Mhm," Chloe answers absently, still reading the autopsy report.

"This dude's got serious issues." Beca drags a hand through her hair.

"Hey! We got some skin cells under her fingernails," Chloe says, excitedly, pointing to a line of text on the screen. "But it doesn't match anything in CODIS."

"Fantastic," Beca drawls. They have this guy's DNA and they're still gone absolutely nowhere.

"Have we heard back from Madeline Childress's husband?" Jesse asks from his desk.

"He should have been notified," Beca says, and at that moment her phone rings. "Hello? Oh. Yes. Okay. Thanks."

"Who was that?" Jesse looks at her quizzically.

"Ben Childress will be in at ten for an interview," Beca says. "Surprise."

"Guess we better get to work," Chloe says, flipping to a new page of her notepad.

* * *

Ben Childress isn't quite what Beca expected.

For one thing, he's only maybe an inch taller than Beca. Which is pretty damn short.

He's also British.

"Hello, I'm detective Beca Mitchell," she introduces herself, and Jesse and Chloe do the same.

"Nice to meet you," Ben says, his voice a bit hoarse. His eyes are red and it's obvious he's been crying. It makes Beca's heart clench.

"Thank you for coming in to talk to us," Beca says gently. "We're very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Ben says, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

Before Beca can even begin, there's a knock on the door. Annoyed at the interruption—really, whomever it is should know better—she stands to crack open the door. And is met with Aubrey.

"Can I snag one of you and Agent Beale?" she says in a low, tight voice that puts Beca on edge.

"Um, yeah, okay," Beca says, gesturing for Jesse and Chloe to come closer. Chloe gives Ben an apologetic smile as she excuses herself.

"What's up?" Jesse asks.

"Can you cover this interview?" Beca asks. "Aubrey needs something."  
"Yeah, sure," Jesse says. "No problem."

"Thank you," Beca says, following Aubrey out of the room with Chloe at her heels.

"What's going on?" Beca says as Aubrey leads them into an empty interview room. She notices that Aubrey has something in an evidence bag in her hands. "What's that?"

"We received this letter," Aubrey says, holding up a sheet of paper encased in a plastic bag. It's covered in a messy, almost childish scrawl.

"From whom?" Chloe asks, frowning. "Who was it addressed to?"

"Just the department," Aubrey says. "I think it's from the killer."

"What?" Beca takes a seat at the table where Aubrey lays the letter in front of them to read. "Are you sure?"

"Well, I'm not  _sure_ , but just read it. It has details that weren't released to the public." Aubrey sits back and folds her arms over her chest as Beca takes a deep breath and begins reading.

_This is the King family and Madeline Childress killer. I will show you that I am the real killer._

_Steven: Strangled and then suffocated with plastic bag. Body left in northwest bedroom. Wearing button down shirt and khaki pants._

_Jane: Garroted with cord. Body left in northwest bedroom. Wearing t-shirt and pajama pants. Pink plaid._

_Alison: Garroted with cord. Body undressed and left in northeast bedroom. Gag in mouth. Wearing sparkly pink shirt and jeans._

_Jack: Suffocated with plastic bag and left in southeast bedroom. T-shirt over head. Wearing red and blue striped shirt and jeans._

_All members of King family hands and feet tied with tape. Kids were making lunches._

_Madeline: Garroted with cord. Undressed. Gagged. Left on bed. Wearing gray sweat pants and blue t-shirt._

_Now do you believe me?_

_I'm sorry this happen. It is hard to control myself. You probably call me a psycho monster pervert. Why I have this monster inside me I do not know but I know it will be here forever. I can not ask for help. I kill five people._

_People should be thank ful that there are ways for me to relieve my self by day dreams of torture and being in control. It is a complicated game finding victims following them checking on them and then waiting waiting waiting._

_Maybe you can stop the monster. I can't._

_You are not doing very good job so far. Can you catch me before I kill again?_

_Good luck hunting._

_-The Barden Strangler_

It isn't until Beca slides the letter over to Chloe that she realizes her hands are shaking slightly.

"You sending this to the lab?" Beca asks, wiping her sweaty palms on her pants.

"Of course I will," Aubrey says, looking slightly offended.

"I think this is him," Chloe says, looking up from the letter.

"Yeah?" Beca says.

"Yes. Aside from the fact that he knows things only the killer or someone who investigated the crime scene would know, he mentions fantasies, or as he calls them, 'daydreams,' which are a huge part of what drive these kinds of guys to kill, to act out their fantasies," Chloe says. "And this last part—'you are not doing a very good job so far. Can you catch me before I kill again?' He's mocking law investigators. He feels like he's outsmarted us, and it feeds into his need to feel powerful and in control."

"What do you think we should do with this?" Aubrey asks, gesturing to the letter.

Chloe thinks for a moment. "I would just sit on it for awhile. He seems to just be letting us know that he's out there and he's watching us, setting up a rapport for future correspondence. And we can also use the information in this letter to determine if it's him."

"Okay," Aubrey says, taking the letter back. "Thank you."

When she leaves, Beca sits back in her chair, sighing heavily. "Does it ever get easier?"

"What?" Chloe furrows her brow.

"Catching these guys. Like, the pressure," Beca says. "Does it get easier? Less stressful?"

Chloe reaches over and squeezes her arm. "I wish I could say yes."

Beca tips her head back and groans. "Wonderful."

* * *

"Sorry to ditch you," Beca says to Jesse when he comes into the office after the interview.

"What did Aubrey need that was so urgent?" Jesse asks, opening the mini-fridge in the corner and taking out a sandwich.

"Letter from our serial killer friend," Beca says, taking a small amount of satisfaction from the way Jesse's eyes bulge and he almost chokes on his sandwich.

"Wha?!" he exclaims, mouth still full. "Are you sure it was him?"

Beca looks at Chloe, who nods. "I'm almost positive," Chloe says.

"Aubrey's sending it to the lab for print testing," Beca adds.

"What did it say?"

"It had some information in it about the victims that only the killer would know," Beca tells him. "And then it said something about him having a monster inside him he can't control. And that we're not 'doing a very good job.'" She holds her fingers up in air quotes. "He signed it 'the Barden Strangler.'"

"Well, while you were having fun, I got basically nothing of value from Mr. Childress," Jesse says, running a hand through his hair. "He's away a lot on business and that could have been why Madeline was targeted. But he didn't report seeing anyone strange."

"How has no one seen this guy?" Beca says frustratedly, rubbing her temples. "Other than that one person who saw him pull out of the Kings' driveway."

"I don't know," Jesse says. "You gonna eat that?" he asks, pointing to the bag of pretzels on Beca's desk. She tosses them across the room to him.

She doesn't have much of an appetite right now.

* * *

They stop at the grocery store on the way back to Beca's apartment.

She's tired and would be fine just ordering takeout (again), but Chloe insists on cooking for them tonight. (Also, she probably only has five things in her fridge.)

Beca follows Chloe around the store, leaning heavily on the cart. Of course Chloe wants to stop in  _every single aisle_. Beca's never seen anyone so enthused about buying groceries.

"Why do I need three kinds of Cheerios?" Beca complains. "I don't even eat cereal."

Chloe ignores her and proceeds to fill the cart with differently shaped pastas. "Do you have any basil in your kitchen?" she asks.

"Um, no?" Beca says, and Chloe gives her this  _look_ that makes her feel like a little kid. That is, until they hit the cookie aisle.

"Chloe, no," Beca says as Chloe moves to put one of every kind of Oreo in the cart.

"You guys have lemon Oreos here?" Chloe says, eyes wide.

"Yes, apparently we do," Beca drawls. "Jesus Christ, Chlo. Just pick one kind."

"But there's also—"

" _One_."

It's a miracle neither of them hits their credit limit.

* * *

"I want to die," Beca groans, wanting desperately to fall face-first into her couch, but drops into a kitchen chair instead (because her couch is now otherwise employed). "This is why I don't buy groceries."

"We only walked up three flights of stairs twice," Chloe points out, putting the last of the bags in the middle of the kitchen and beginning to put the food away.

"That's three times too many," Beca complains. Her shirt is sticking to her back uncomfortably, and her face is probably bright red and sweaty and it can't be attractive.

"How did you hack the physical portion of the police academy?" Chloe questions, her voice muffled as she loads the refrigerator.

"That was, like, ten years ago," Beca says. She knows the polite thing to do would be to help Chloe put away the food, but her back is aching (and it's not like it was her idea to buy all this crap in the first place).

Chloe pops back up and closes the door to the fridge. "We should go running together!" she says, like it's a really good idea.

"No, we should not," Beca says. "You are welcome to run all you want. I'm fine here."

"Please?" Chloe pouts her bottom lip slightly.

"Ugh," Beca groans, running a hand over her face because she  _knows_ she can't turn her down. "Maybe."

Chloe beams at her, and Beca does her best to ignore the flutters she feels in her stomach.

* * *

By the time Beca is out of the shower and dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, Chloe has made dinner and set the table.

"Wow," Beca says, seating herself across from Chloe. "What is this?" she asks carefully, looking warily at the pasta and chicken in some sort of green sauce.

"It's pasta and chicken with a sauce made of avocado, garlic, basil, oil, and lemon juice," Chloe says. "I promise it's really good."

Just to be safe, Beca takes a tiny bite. "Wow," she says, surprise evident in her voice (she hopes it doesn't offend Chloe), "this  _is_  really good."

"Told you," Chloe sings, looking awfully pleased with herself.

"And you made all this while I was in the shower?" Beca asks.

"Yep," Chloe responds. "It's really quick and easy to make. I can teach you."

"I'm kind of a hazard in the kitchen," Beca admits. "I have safely mastered the microwave, though."

Chloe chuckles. "I'll have to give you a crash course in cooking sometime."

"I don't know," Beca says uncertainly. "I don't think my landlord would appreciate me burning the apartment complex down."

"It's really not that hard," Chloe says, rolling her eyes.

"Well, alright, Miss Perfect," Beca says, crossing her arms. "What are you bad at?"

Chloe pauses, thinking for a moment. "I can't sew."

Beca stares at her. "Do I look like I could teach you to sew?"

"Fair point," Chloe says. "Um… I can't… Wait, no. It's stupid."

"No, what is it?" Beca leans forward, intrigued.

"I've never…" Chloe laughs, looking shy. "I've never been able to sit through an entire scary movie."

Beca sits back, stunned. "What? With your job?"

"I know, it doesn't make any sense," Chloe says, shaking her head.

"Well, we'll have to work on that sometime," Beca offers, and Chloe grins back at her.

"Great."

It's only been one day, but Beca can't remember what it was like without having Chloe in her apartment.

* * *

Beca cleans up the kitchen, figuring she probably shouldn't make Chloe do  _all_ the work.

By the time she's finished, she's physically and emotionally exhausted. She sinks down in a kitchen chair, rolling out her neck.

"You okay?" Chloe asks, coming out of the bathroom where she'd been brushing her teeth. "You look tense."

"I'm okay," Beca says, rubbing at one of her shoulders.

"Here, let me…" Chloe rounds the table, coming to stand behind Beca, settling her hands on her shoulders.

At first Beca's muscles tense, unsure of Chloe's intentions. But then Chloe's hands begin massaging her shoulder muscles, and Beca can't find it in her to tell her to stop. She lets her head fall forward, practically resting her chin on her chest as Chloe's fingers work at the back of Beca's neck.  
"You've got a lot of knots," Chloe comments.  
"Mhm," Beca murmurs, not totally listening as Chloe's fingers dig at the knots between her shoulders. Her whole body feels warm and light, melting into Chloe's touch. A moan escapes her lips, long and low and completely without her permission.

Chloe's fingers still momentarily, bringing Beca back to reality. She jumps up from the chair, out of Chloe's reach.

"Um," Beca says, feeling the heat rising on her cheeks. "I'm beat so… I'm just gonna go to bed. Yeah."

"Okay," Chloe says, fighting to keep a smirk off her face at Beca's frazzled state.

"Um," Beca repeats. "Good night."

"Night."

* * *

Beca spends most of the next day trying to avoid eye contact with Chloe. Which is kind of a hard thing to do when you both live and work with someone, but imagining said person's fingers drifting down your body and—

Nope, not thinking about that.

Jesse catches onto the tension pretty quickly, but thankfully keeps his mouth (mostly) shut, save for a "Did you finally hit that?" when Chloe leaves the room.

(Beca smacks him, of course.)

It's been a pretty dull day of interviewing friends and coworkers of Madeline Childress's and reviewing lab reports when Beca's phone rings.

"Beca Mitchell, homicide unit."

"Hi, it's Benji," says the shaky voice on the other line.

 _Benji_ , Beca mouths to Jesse and Chloe, who look at her inquisitively. "What's up?" Beca asks, leaning her elbows on the desk.

"You guys better get down here," Benji says. "A woman's been strangled."

"Okay, we'll be right there." Beca grabs a pen to scribble the address down.

"Oh, and Beca?" Benji asks as she's about to hang up.

"What?"

"Bring a social worker. There's a witness."

The words make Beca sit upright in her chair. "A witness?" she echoes, Jesse and Chloe snapping to attention at her words. "Who?"

Benji sighs. "Her five-year-old daughter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The note from the killer here is very heavily based on a note sent to police by Dennis Rader (because, again, I'm not a serial killer). If you're super interested in reading it I can link you or you can just Google it.


	5. Chapter 5

They rush out of the station and to the scene, sirens blaring and lights flashing on Beca's unmarked car. On the way, Jesse calls Stacie, one of the Barden PD social workers. He calls Aubrey next.

There's only one other patrol car—probably Benji's—and an ambulance when they arrive. Beca can see Benji standing on the driveway of the little one-story house, looking thoroughly freaked out, as they approach. Standing next to him is a little girl with wide, wet eyes and brown pigtails.

"Hey," Beca says as they walk up the driveway. "What's the situation?"

"Karen Albright, twenty-seven. In her bedroom. She was—" He gestures vaguely at his throat, mindful of the child next o him. "With a belt. She was pronounced"—he lowers his voice—"dead on the scene."

"And this is the witness?" The girl standing next to Benji sniffles, clutching a stuffed cat in her arms.

"Yeah, this is Victoria," Benji says. "You called a social worker?"

"Yep, Stacie's on her way." Beca crouches down to speak to Victoria. "Hello. I'm Detective Mitchell."

"Where's my mom?" Victoria asks, absently rubbing the fur of her toy against her chin.

"Um." Beca has no idea how to answer. "She's…"

"What's your cat's name?" Chloe jumps in, smiling disarmingly at the little girl.

Beca breathes a sigh of relief, grateful for the distraction as Victoria answers, "Princess Kitty."

Beca hears heels clicking on the pavement behind her and turns around to see Stacie. "Good morning," Stacie says, but her tone is serious and her face is grim. "What do we have here?"

"Mother's been murdered and apparently her daughter is a witness," Beca says, her voice low so Victoria can't overhear.

Stacie closes her eyes momentarily. "Is there a father?"

Beca shrugs. "We just got here. I haven't even been inside yet." She turns to Benji. "This is gonna be a circus really soon. Can you talk to the neighbors and find out if there's anyone to take Victoria?"

"Absolutely," Benji says earnestly.

"I'm going to take the little one back to the station with me," Stacie says. Beca nods, and Chloe stands again so Stacie can speak to Victoria.

"Shall we go in?" Chloe asks, and Beca makes a lead-the-way gesture.

Donning the little fabric shoe coverings Jesse grabs from the car, Beca, Jesse, and Chloe enter the house. The door creaks loudly in the dead-silence of the house.

Beca grimaces internally. Poor word choice.

The door opens into the living room, which is directly across from the little kitchen, a table and chairs in the space between.

The first bedroom on the left is essentially a glorified closet. The little bed with pink sheets and the toys strewn across the floor make it evident that it's Victoria's bedroom.

Beca takes a deep breath and braces herself as she enters the other bedroom.

The victim—Karen, Beca reminds herself—lays awkwardly half on her side, nude, as her hands are bound behind her with tape. A strip of cloth tied around her face serves as a gag, and wrapped around her neck is a brown leather belt. Her face is discolored red and blue, much like the face of Madeline Childress. The blanket and sheets of her bed are tangled and half on the floor, making Beca suspect there was a struggle.

"No cord this time," Jesse comments, mostly to himself, as he rounds the bed, carefully sidestepping a shirt haphazardly thrown on the floor.

"Looks like the same tape as the King murders," Chloe says, leaning over for a closer look while taking care not to touch the bed.

Leaving Chloe and Jesse in the bedroom, Beca curiously pushes open the door of the room across the hall. It's a little bathroom, but as Beca pokes her head inside, she sees that there's a blanket spread across the floor, topped with various toys. A length of rope, one end tied with an elaborate knot to a drainage pipe under the sink, lies on the floor with a loop tied on the other end.

"What's in there?" Chloe asks, startling Beca.

"Jesus, Chlo," Beca gasps, turning around. "You scared me."

"Sorry."

Beca steps aside and lets Chloe survey the room. "It looks like maybe this end was tied around the handle," Chloe says, frowning.

"Maybe the killer tried to lock Victoria in here?" Beca guesses, shuddering at the thought.

Chloe shrugs. "Guess we'll have to ask her."

* * *

When they reemerge from the house, the front lawn is a zoo. Uniformed officers, EMTs, crime scene technicians, and onlookers swarm around. Beca spots Aubrey at the same moment Aubrey spots them, and she comes to meet them on the front stoop with long, purposeful strides.

"I just got here," Aubrey says, sounding a bit out of breath. "There was a drug bust on the other side of town. Fill me in," she commands, and Beca can't help but roll her eyes.

"Benji got here first," Jesse answers. "He said her name is Karen Albright and she's twenty-seven. Garroted with a belt. Her five-year-old daughter was a witness. She's at the station with Stacie right now."

Aubrey presses her fingers to her forehead. "Poor kid."

"We asked Benji to ask around, see if there's a father or someone who can take her," Beca says, scanning the crowd for Benji.

"The victim's hands were bound with a tape that looks identical to the kind used in the King murders," Chloe says as Beca finds Benji and waves him over.

"Did you find anyone?" Beca asks as he approaches.

"Neighbors say Ms. Albright was a single mother," Benji says, a bit sadly. "Father hasn't been in the picture for years." He rips off a piece of paper from a little notepad he pulls out of his pocket. "She does have a sister, though. She lives in Savannah. Here's her name." Benji hands the paper to Beca.

"We'll pass this on to social services," Beca assures him. "Thank you."

"You all set here if we go back to interview the kid?" Jesse asks Aubrey.

"Go ahead," Aubrey tells them. "I'll let the techs know they can go in." She nods at them before walking away.

"Please tell me you've interviewed children before," Beca mutters to Chloe once Aubrey's out of earshot.

Chloe laughs and touches the small of her back. It's brief, but it's enough to send shivers up Beca's spine. (She hopes no one noticed her tiny involuntary shudder.)

"A few times," Chloe says. "Don't worry." She starts across the lawn for Jesse's car.

Beca turns around to say something to Jesse but stops when she sees the look on his face—eyebrows raised pointedly, and he looks like he's trying not to laugh.

"Shut up," she snaps, face heating.

It's going to be a long day.

* * *

When they arrive, Stacie whispers to them that Victoria has been very quiet and anxious, wanting to go home. Beca gives her the name of Karen's sister to look up after the interview.

One of the upsides of interviewing a small child is that Beca gets to sit on the floor (as opposed to the highly uncomfortable plastic chairs).

Victoria is seated on the carpet with Stacie, toys, crayons, and coloring pages strewn about.

Beca sinks to the floor, crossing her legs, Jesse and Chloe following suit. "Hello, Victoria," Beca says. "I'm Detective Mitchell. From earlier."

Victoria just blinks at her.

"You can call her Beca," Chloe adds. "I'm Chloe, and this is my friend Jesse." Jesse lifts his hand in a half-wave. "Can we ask you some questions about what happened today?"

Victoria stares at her for a moment, then nods.

"Can you tell me how the man got into your house?" Chloe asks gently.

"He ringed the doorbell," Victoria says, peeling the paper off of a crayon. "He showed me a picture of a puppy and asked if I sawed it. Then he pushed the door open and came inside and started yelling."

"What was he yelling?"

"He was yelling at mommy. 'Freeze or I'll shoot you!'" Victoria raises her voice, frowning in what Beca assumes is an impression of the killer. "'Put some toys in the bafroom! Now, or I'll shoot you!'"

"Did the man have a gun?" Chloe asks, leaning forward.

"Yeah." Beca and Jesse exchange a look.

"And then what did he do?"

"He telled me to go in the bafroom and not to open the door or he'd kill me," Victoria answers, picking up Princess Kitty and hugging it to her chest. "Then he tied a rope around the door."

"And then what happened?"

"Mommy started screaming."

"What was she saying?"

"'What are you doing?'" Victoria looks down at her lap, and she kind of looks like she's about to cry. (Beca really hopes she doesn't.) "And then she stopped."

"How did you get out of the bathroom?"

"I waited until I didn't hear the man anymore, and then I pulled the rope off the handle."

"And then what did you do?"

"I went to see Mommy but she was sleeping." Beca squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, feeling mildly nauseous. "So I picked up the phone and called 911. That's what my teacher says we should do in a 'mergency."

"That was a very smart thing to do," Chloe says, smiling softly at Victoria. "Do you remember what the man looked like or what he was wearing?"

"He had brown hair," Victoria says, pausing to think. "He was kind of fat. He had a big tummy. And glasses. And he was wearing gloves even though he was inside."

"Did you happen to see his car?"

Victoria shakes her head, her pigtails bouncing. "No."

"And is there anything else that you can remember that you want to tell us?"

"Um." Victoria looks thoughtful. "My favorite kind of ice cream is chocolate."

 _Well, that's the end of that_ , Beca thinks.  _Kids_.

"Thank you for talking to me, Victoria," Chloe says, smiling the bright smile that Beca has so far only seen aimed at her.

 _You're not actually jealous of a five-year-old_ , Beca scolds herself.

"I'll have somebody start looking for this woman," Stacie says to them quietly as they stand to leave, the piece of paper Beca gave her clutched between two of her fingers. "I'll call social services for now."

"Thank you," Beca says gratefully. Dealing with children is really not her forte.

"Poor kid," Jesse comments as they make their way back to the office.

"Can you imagine being in the next room while your mother is murdered?" Chloe agrees, shaking her head. "I'm impressed she had the sense to call 911."

Beca heads straight for the mini fridge in the corner of the office, pulling out a container of Chloe's latest pasta concoction. She was about to eat lunch when they got the call to go to the crime scene, and she's starving.

"What do you think about him having a gun?" she asks Chloe as she watches her pasta spin around in the microwave.

"Assuming this is the same guy, it makes sense," Chloe says. "It certainly explains how the UNSUB got the entire King family under control."

"He has a gun but he only uses it as a threat so he can strangle people," Beca muses, sitting down at her desk with the pasta. "This dude's a sick fuck."

"He used a belt this time," Jesse comments, snagging a piece of Beca's pasta and popping it in his mouth. "You think he ran out of cord?" He pauses, chewing. "This is really good. Did you make this?"

"Chloe did," Beca says, pulling the container out of his reach. "Get your own lunch."

"Chloe cooks for you?" Jesse asks. "Did you not tell her that you're on an all-take-out diet?"

"Shut up," Beca mumbles around a mouthful of food.

"I'm going to teach Beca to cook," Chloe says, unwrapping a sandwich.

"Oh really?" Jesse turns to Beca; the look on his face very clearly says  _whipped_.

Beca resists the urge to dump her pasta over his head.

* * *

It's late when Beca and Chloe make it back to Beca's apartment. They'd had to interview several more people (friends and neighbors, mostly, but Stacie managed to track down Karen's sister, too), and all Beca wants to do is fall-face first into bed.

So that's exactly what she does after a grunted, "Good night" to Chloe, who looks equally as exhausted.

Beca barely manages to change into shorts and a t-shirt, leaving her work clothes tossed carelessly onto a chair, before she falls asleep.

* * *

Several sharp knocks on her apartment door rudely wake Beca from her sleep. She drags herself out of bed, grumbling all the way to the door, yanking it open. "What—?"

A tall man with dark hair and a protruding belly muscles his way inside. Beca starts to protest, but the words die in her throat when he points a handgun at her.

"Scream and I'll shoot you," he threatens in a low tone. Beca holds her hands up in front of her, not wanting to aggravate the man, mouth dry and heart racing.

Looking around her, the man spots Chloe on the couch, who is just waking up due to the commotion.

"Beca, what's happening?" Chloe asks sleepily. The man quickly turns and points the gun at Chloe, whose eyes widen as she sits straight up.

"No!" Beca yells, rushing to move in front of the gun. "Don't hurt her, please."

The man stares at her for a moment. "You," he says, gesturing with his head towards the bathroom door, "get in there."

"W-why?" Beca asks nervously, looking between the man, the gun, Chloe, and back again.

"Do it," he growls, "or I'll shoot both of you."

"Beca," Chloe says softly behind her. Beca turns around, hands still raised in front of her. Chloe is looking at her with an expression too calm for this situation. "Just do it. I'll be okay."

The feeling of a gun barrel being pressed into Beca's shoulder makes her turn back to the man. "In there," he orders again.

"Okay, okay," Beca concedes shakily, backing herself into the bathroom. The man quickly slams the door shut, leaving Beca in darkness. To her horror, the doorknob is stuck. She tries to turn it with both hands, but it doesn't budge. "Hey!" she shouts, banging against the door. "What are you doing?"

She waits with bated breath for a moment, trying to hear something—anything.

"Get in the bedroom," the man says, his voice muffled by the door. "Now."

"Leave her alone!" Beca yells, banging again on the door with her fists. Her throat aches from anxiety and the yelling and her heart races, making her hands unsteady.

And then she hears a thud, followed by a scream.

Beca's heart rate picks up even more, making her vision fuzzy around the edges, and she feels sick with fear. She pounds on the door again, but she can't seem to take her voice work.

"Beca!" she hears Chloe shout. "Help!"

Time seems to slow, and Beca feels like she's moving underwater. Her limbs feel heavy and the scream that rips from her throat doesn't sound like it comes from her. All she hears is "Beca! Beca!" yelled over and over again.

_"Beca! Beca, wake up!"_

Beca jolts awake with a gasp, heart pounding erratically. She sits up, looking around, confused to see Chloe standing over her. She opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a random garbled syllable.

"You were having a dream," Chloe says, slowly and gently, sitting down on the bed.

Beca wipes her hair back with one hand, grimacing when she realizes she's drenched in cold sweat. "You're okay," she says breathlessly, her senses still a bit hazy.

"I'm right here," Chloe says, taking one of Beca's hands between her own. "Take deep breaths. In… out… Good."

Beca focuses on her breathing, trying to slow her heart. She searches Chloe's face for a scratch, a bruise, anything amiss. But her pale skin is still as flawless as ever, save for the tiny scar between her eyebrows, and it helps bring Beca back to reality.

"I'm okay," Chloe assures her. "And you're okay. It was just a dream."

"I… you…" Beca struggles to form speech. "The killer was here, and he locked me in the bathroom, and you were screaming…" The images come flooding back, and she begins to panic again.

"Beca." Chloe plants her hands on Beca's shoulders. "Look at me." Beca complies, looking into Chloe's wide, blue eyes. "I'm fine. You're fine. It was just a dream."

"Okay," Beca says, blowing out a shaky breath, grounding herself in Chloe's touch.

"Good," Chloe coos, brushing a lock of hair off of Beca's sweaty face. It makes Beca feel very young.

"God, I'm a mess," Beca mutters, bringing her hands to her face, hating that Chloe is seeing his this vulnerable.

Chloe just laughs, gently tugging Beca's hands away from her face. She pauses to gently brush the back of her hand over Beca's cheek, lips curving into a gentle smile. Beca wonders how someone can be so beautiful at three in the morning.

"You should get back to sleep," Chloe says, but the thought of her leaving Beca's sight makes the anxiety well up again. It must show in her eyes, because Chloe says, "How about I stay here tonight?"

It sounds more like a statement than a question, but Beca nods, grateful Chloe suggested it.

"Lie down," Chloe says, and Beca does, feeling vaguely nervous. "On your stomach," Chloe adds, and Beca looks at her quizzically. "I'll rub your back," Chloe explains.

"Okay," Beca says, very quietly, lying on her stomach and resting her cheek on her pillow, facing away from Chloe.

Chloe's hand comes to rest on Beca's back lightly, as if letting Beca get used to her touch, before stroking broadly, up and down.

Beca takes deep breaths, trying to focus on the rhythm of Chloe's hand and the in-and-out of her breathing.

She falls asleep with Chloe's breath against her neck and arm around her waist, the first syllables of what could maybe have been an  _I love you_ dead on her tongue.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the lovely people who have left kudos or comments!

Beca wakes up to the soft weight of a head on her chest. After a moment of confusion, she identifies the wavy mess of red hair as Chloe, and the memory of the night comes flooding back.

It should feel weird, having a near-stranger (whom she's also happened to make out with a couple of times) draped intimately across her body, but it doesn't.

It feels… right.

Glancing at the clock, Beca sees that they still have another hour or so before they have to get up and settles back into her pillow, absently running her fingers through Chloe's hair.

She is so fucked.

* * *

They have a quiet morning—gentle smiles and soft touches over cereal, because Beca's still a little jumpy—but the station is anything but serene when they arrive.

"What the hell is going on?" Beca mutters as they push through the door.

"Detective Mitchell," someone calls, and Beca turns to see Jessica, a receptionist, motioning her over to the front desk. "Lieutenant Posen wants to see you two in her office," Jessica says, smiling.

(She's always smiling. Beca finds it a little unnerving.)

"Okay, thanks," Beca says over her shoulder as she turns in the direction of Aubrey's office. They pass clumps of people chatting, looking on phones or computer screens, one particularly large group of uniformed officers watching the television in the little lounge alcove, which is set to the local news.

Bewildered, Beca knocks on Aubrey's door, poking her head inside. "You wanted to see us?" she says, seeing that Jesse is already in the room, seated across from Aubrey.

"Yes, come in," Aubrey says hurriedly. "We have a situation."

"I can see that," Beca comments as she seats herself beside Jesse. "Care to fill me in?"

Aubrey hands Beca and Chloe each a piece of printed paper. Glancing down, Beca sees that it's a letter. When she sees the signature, she can't help the sharp intake of breath that escapes her.

"This was sent to the  _Atlanta Journal-Constitution_ ," Aubrey says. "It was printed in this morning's paper."

Beca looks down at the paper and scans the print; the body of the letter is succinct, just a few lines, followed by what appears to be a poem.

_This is the killer of the King family Madeline Childress and Karen Albright._

_Another person has died because the police can not catch me. I am to good. I am sorry it has come to this but the monster in side of me can not be stopped. Watch out Barden._

_Oh! Death to Karen_

_What is this that I can see_

_The monster taking over me_

_Better stay out of my way_

_The monster has come out to play_

_I will gag you so you can't talk_

_Tie your legs so you can't walk_

_If you see me coming you should run_

_The monster wants another one_

_-The Barden Strangler_

"Jesus Christ," Beca mutters, putting down the letter.

"I'm sure you can imagine that people are not happy," Aubrey says, her mouth in a firm line. "We're being criticized left and right."

"People have no idea how an investigation works," Jesse grumbles.

"The public wants to feel like tangible action is being taken, something they feel like they can contribute to," Chloe says.

"So what do we do?" Beca asks.

Chloe thinks for a moment, biting her lip. Then she announces, "A tip line."

"A tip line," Aubrey repeats, her expression thoughtful, working the idea over in her head.

"People can call twenty-four hours a day with any information they have. We could do a press conference to announce it," Chloe explains. "It also puts pressure on the UNSUB, because he'll know people are watching."

"That's a good idea," Jesse agrees, leaning his elbows on his knees and nodding.

"Who's gonna go through all the tips?" Beca asks, not terribly excited by the idea of spending hours combing through probably useless tips about people's weird neighbors.

"We can pull a couple officers for a couple hours every day to help," Aubrey offers.

"Okay," Beca says, and Chloe beams at her.

"Operation Barden's Most Wanted is a go!" Chloe cheers, high-fiving Jesse.

Beca just rolls her eyes.

* * *

 _Leave it to Aubrey to have the press here in three hours_ , Beca muses, surveying the crowd of people wielding cameras, microphones, and notepads, packed into the large classroom-style space used for the morning lineups. A podium, topped with various microphones, has been carried in and set up at the front.

"I don't have to talk, so I?" Beca hisses to Chloe, who seems very calm about all of the commotion.

Chloe places a hand on Beca's arm and squeezes. "Aubrey'll do the talking, don't worry."

 _Speaking of Aubrey_ , Beca thinks as the door to the room opens and Aubrey, looking sleek and professional in a black suit and heels, strides purposefully to the podium.

"Good morning," Aubrey says, even though it's nearly one o'clock. "Earlier today, a letter was printed in the  _Atlanta Journal-Constitution_ , purportedly from the person who murdered the King family, Madeline Childress, and, most recently, Karen Albright. These murders were brutal, tragic, and senseless, and the Barden Police Department is doing everything in its power to find the killer. We are working with the FBI and we are trying to use every resource available to us.

"What we realized is that there is one resource we have not utilized"—Aubrey looks up, into the cameras for a moment—"you, the public. Which is why we are setting up a tip line that anyone can call at any hour of the day with any information that might lead to the capture of this killer. Please call 1-800-374-3847 if you have any information. Thank you." She smiles, pausing for the cameras, and then leaves the podium with a nod.

"Nice job," Chloe says with a smile as Aubrey approaches them.

"Hopefully it'll distract the critics from trying to cut our funding," Aubrey mumbles, aware of the people in the room.

Beca rolls her eyes, but she does agree. Although she's not looking forward to picking through all of the tips that are sure to flood in.

* * *

"One hundred and thirty-six tips!" Beca exclaims when she opens her email the next morning. "How the fuck do one hundred and thirty-six people honestly think they have valuable information?"

"What do they say?" Jesse asks around a fast-food breakfast sandwich.

"Um," Beca says, scrolling. "Well, this one is from a woman who was out walking her dog and some guy 'looked at her funny.'" She tips her head back and groans. "This was a terrible idea."

"Hey!" Chloe says. "This was my idea, and it's a great one, mind you."

"Then you come over here and read all of these tips," Beca grumbles, although it's hard for her words to carry any sort of weight against the person she'd slept curled around—again.

"I'll take a third, you take a third, and Jesse can do a third," Chloe says around the pen cap in her mouth as she scribbles something on a notepad.

"One hundred and thirty-six isn't divisible by three," Beca complains, forwarding the email to Chloe and Jesse as Jesse's phone rings.

"'ello?" he mumbles into the phone, still chewing. "Wha?" He swallows, coughing. "No, it's fine. We'll be right there. Bye."

He hangs up the phone and looks up with an odd look on his face. Beca's stomach drops, expecting the worst.

"Another one?" Chloe asks quietly.

"No," Jesse replies, wrapping up the rest of his sandwich. "Well, not really."

"What do you mean, not really?" Beca asks, stuffing her things into her bag, trying to calm her heart with the knowledge that no one is dead.

Jesse shrugs. "Dispatch said some lady found a letter from 'Barden Strangler'"—he holds his fingers up in air quotes—"saying that he was waiting in her house to kill her but then he left."

"Like, he got bored?" Beca wonders aloud, and Jesse shrugs again.

"Well," Chloe says as Jesse unlocks his car, "now we know he's actually staking out victims.  _If_ this is the guy and not some stupid kids playing a very insensitive prank."

Jesse pauses before putting the key in the ignition. "Would it be bad if we went through the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru?" he asks.

Beca hesitates.  _It's not like anyone's dead…_ she reasons with herself.

"Nah."

* * *

Fifteen minutes and three coffees later, Beca, Jesse, and Chloe approach the front door of a white ranch-style house with a heavy metal knocker on the door.

(There's also a doorbell, which Beca rings.)

An older woman with short brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses opens the door. "Hello," she says nervously, stepping aside to let them in. "I'm Alice Stevens."

The first thing that Beca notices about Alice's house is that there are owls everywhere—owl figurines littered throughout the living room, owl-printed pillows on the couch, paintings of owls on the walls.

The second is that it kind of smells like cat pee.

 _No wonder the killer left_ , Beca can't help but think.

"I'm Agent Chloe Beale, and this is Detective Beca Mitchell and Detective Jesse Swanson," Chloe says, extending her hand for Alice to shake.  
"Thank you for coming," Alice says, gesturing with her hand for the group to follow her into the kitchen. They all sit around her little kitchen table, in the center of which lies a piece of notebook paper with a sloppy script scribbled across it.

"Why don't you tell us what happened, from the beginning?" Chloe asks, flipping to a clean page on her notepad.

"Well," Alice says, her voice raspy like that of a smoker's, "I came home earlier this morning from the hospital. My daughter just had a baby last night, and I stayed over with her. It was all rather sudden; she wasn't due for another two weeks. This was on the table when I got home." She points to the paper.

Beca digs into her bags for a latex glove and a clear evidence bag, carefully sliding the note inside to protect any fingerprints it may contain. Once secured, she leans over it to read.

_Oh, Alice Why Didn't You Appear_

_T'was the perfect plan of deviant pleasure so bold on a sunny day_

_Cool, dry with inner fear and rapture_

_The monster had come out to play_

_Oh, Alice, why didn't you appear_

_In that small world of longing, fear, rapture, and desperation, the game we play_

_The monster is in its cave but it will not stay_

_Oh, Alice, why didn't you appear_

_You got lucky this time._

_-The Barden Strangler_

"One of the windows in the basement was broken," Alice tells them. "I think that's how he got in."

"Did you notice anything missing?" Chloe asks.

"No, I don't think so," Alice says.

"And do you have any idea if this paper came from here?"

Alice nods. "It's probably out of this notebook." She stands and picks up a notebook from the kitchen counter, handing it to Chloe. Beca bags that, too. "I use it to write grocery lists and the like."

"Do you live alone?" Jesse asks, looking at the family photos that lines the wall.

"I do now. My husband passed away last year," Alice follows his line of sight with a small smile.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Jesse says, and Alice thanks him.

"Have you noticed anyone hanging around your house, watching you? Or has anyone you don't know come to your door lately?" Chloe presses.

Alice thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. "Sorry, no."

"Is there someone you can stay with for a few days?" Beca asks, worrying that the killer might come back to finish the deed.

"I can go to my daughter's," Alice says. "She'll probably want help with the baby, anyway."

"Perfect," Chloe says with an easy smile. "Thank you so much for your time."

Jesse fishes something out of his pocket. "Here's my card. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything."

"Thank you," Alice says, her face solemn. "I really hope you catch this guy soon."

"I hope so, too," Chloe says.

* * *

By the end of the day, all Beca wants to do is take a shower, put on her pajamas, and watch television while reading through the unread tips. And maybe order takeout. (She hasn't had takeout in, like, a week. It feels wrong.)

It's a wonderful plan, and Beca's trying to decide between Chinese and pizza when Chloe says, "Let's go out!"

"Out?" Beca repeats, kicking her shoes haphazardly onto the mat by the entrance to her apartment.

"Yes, out," Chloe says, looking amused. "You know, like somewhere that's not here."

"What's wrong with here?" Beca asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Nothing," Chloe says, tongue peeking out to run over her bottom lip quickly. (Beca thinks it quite unfair.) "But we just go to work and then come home. I want to go out."

Chloe's eyes are doing the puppy-dog thing she always does when she's trying to get Beca to share half her bagel or let her choose the radio station, and Beca finds her resolve quickly crumbling. "But I don't want to," she whines, fully aware that she sounds like a six-year-old.

"Please?" Chloe says, batting her eyelashes, and Beca's gone.

" _Fine_ ," she grumbles, biting back a smile at Chloe's excited squeal.

"I'm picking out your outfit!" Chloe announces, grabbing Beca's wrist and half-dragging her to the bedroom.

"I did not agree to that!"

* * *

Forty-five minutes and many complaints later, Beca, dressed in a flowy top, heels, and jeans (she'd drawn the line at anything involving skirts or dresses), follows Chloe into a little hole-in-the-wall bar. It's dimly lit and a bit sparse on patrons, but Beca hadn't felt like paying for a cab to downtown Atlanta.

(They took a cab for two reasons: One, Beca really didn't feel like trying to find parking. Two, Chloe insisted that they were going to get—and she quotes—"hammered." It makes Beca nervous.)

Chloe, wearing a dress so tight it might as well be painted on, immediately orders them each a tequila shot with salt and lime as Beca looks on warily.

(The last time Beca had tequila shots was a night out with Jesse about a year ago, and she still doesn't know what happened to her bra.)

"Come here," Chloe says, smirking in a way that makes Beca nervous. Gently, Chloe brushes Beca's hair to one side, exposing her neck. Her face looms closer, and Beca's eyes flutter shut, heart pounding.

The feeling of Chloe's tongue dragging up her neck, slowly and teasingly, makes her jump a bit, breath hitching. When Chloe pulls away, a rush of cool air hits Beca's neck before a tickling sensation. Opening her eyes, Beca sees Chloe sprinkling salt along the curve of her neck, biting her lip before grinning at Beca mischievously.

Satisfied, Chloe returns the salt to the bar top. She picks up one of the lime wedges. "Here," she says, holding it up to Beca's mouth. Beca takes it between her teeth without saying anything, because she's pretty sure the only sound that would come out would not be in English.

Chloe ducks her head back into Beca's personal space, licking away the salt in one smooth motion, and Beca can't stop the small whimper that escapes.

Chloe raises the shot to her mouth, tipping it back and slamming the glass back onto the bar. Beca watches the way her throat bobs with the swallow, transfixed.

Lips descend on Beca's own, wrapping around the time and tugging it away from her teeth. Beca releases it, allowing Chloe to take it. She licks her lips, tasting lime.

"Whew," Chloe breathes, sucking hard on the lime before dropping it into the empty shot glass. "That was fun."

 _For you, maybe_ , Beca thinks, feeling her neck heat, her mind involuntarily replaying the feeling of Chloe's tongue against her skin.

She needs to be drunk. Like, yesterday.

"Your turn," Chloe says, smiling in a way that is too angelic for a person who just rendered Beca temporarily paralyzed with her tongue.

Summoning her courage, Beca takes the salt and leans in to lick a path up Chloe's neck, the tastes of salty sweat and sweet perfume lingering on her tongue as she carefully sprinkles the salt onto Chloe's skin. Chloe tips her head to the side, eyes watching Beca carefully. She picks up a lime wedge and puts it between her teeth. She should look at least a little bit ridiculous, but Beca can't find a single fault.

"Here we go," Beca says, mostly to herself, as she picks up the shot, careful to hold it steady as she licks the salt off of Chloe's neck.

Then she knocks it back, hissing at the liquid burning down her throat. (She'd forgotten how much she hates tequila.) Quickly, Beca takes the lime from Chloe's mouth, lips brushing just the barest hint. Her lips are tingling, and Beca isn't sure if it's from the alcohol or the contact.

"That was fun," Chloe says, and Beca can't help but notice that the side of her neck is still glistening. It makes her stomach flip.

She's pretty sure this girl is going to be the death of her.

* * *

Beca's drunk.

She's drunker than she's ever been in a very long time. (See: Tequila incident 2014.)

Maybe it's the stress; maybe it's the cheap liquor. Maybe it's the way Chloe, equally as drunk, is smiling at her.

They sit at the bar, downing drinks like frat boys and laughing at things that aren't funny until Chloe's hand wanders up Beca's thigh, fingertips gently dragging along the inside.

Beca immediately stops talking, too inebriated to form words while Chloe's hand is creeping up her leg—Chloe, locks of hair escaped from her bun framing her face, which is flushed from the humid air of the bar and the liquor, who is smirking at her like she knows exactly what she's doing to Beca.

It's almost embarrassing, how much Beca's body reacts to the gentle pressure of a single hand. But she's too drunk to care and she  _wants_ Chloe.

"Let's get out of here," Beca breathes, words slightly slurred. She briefly considers the bathroom, but she  _really_ wants Chloe naked and, well—they've been interrupted before.

"Okay," Chloe says brightly, sliding off of the barstool. Her dress rides up a bit, exposing creamy thighs, and Beca's breath catches.

The ride home is gonna  _suck_.

* * *

Beca's totally adding "walking up three flights of stairs in heels while-shit-faced drunk" to her list of greatest accomplishments. She's never been so grateful to hear her apartment door slam shut behind her.

They'd managed to keep things pretty PG-13 in the cab ride back, but as soon as the door shuts Beca presses Chloe against it without hesitation, pressing their mouths together with need.

Chloe makes a surprised sound into Beca's mouth but grips her hips tightly, kissing her back with fervor, tongue raking across Beca's teeth in a way that makes her knees feel weak.

Beca grabs at Chloe's waist, growling in frustration when she realizes that the dress doesn't allow access to her skin.

Chloe's wandering hands slip just under the material of Beca's shirt, fingers splaying out over her lower back, making her shiver.

"Off," Beca gasps, and Chloe complies, flinging it somewhere over her shoulder. Her mouth descends down Beca's neck, lavishing the newly exposed skin with open-mouthed kisses and soft bites, stopping to suck particularly hard on her collarbone.

"Fuck," Beca gasps, stumbling a little in her heels. She tugs at the material of Chloe's dress, but she's too distracted by the sensations to be very effective.

"How about we take this…?" Chloe doesn't finish her sentence, instead gesturing with her head in the direction of the bedroom.

"Yes," Beca says, nodding emphatically. (It makes the room spin a little bit.)

Chloe pushes off the door and gently guides Beca backwards down the hall—but alcohol, heels, and a decorative rug don't mix very well, and Beca stumbles, falling flat onto her butt.

It would be funny if she weren't so desperate to get into her bedroom, and Beca yanks off her heels, scrambling back to her feet. However, Chloe is still wearing  _her_ heels and Beca finds herself face-to-face with Chloe's chin.

God, she is  _never_ wearing heels again.

With a laugh, Chloe toes off her shoes, and Beca wastes no time in dragging her into the bedroom and shoving her down on the bed. She tugs at the tight fabric, urging it up over Chloe's hips, faltering at the sight of lacy black panties, mouth going dry.

Impatient, Chloe yanks the dress over her head, revealing a matching black bra, the lingerie sharply contrasting with her pale skin.

Beca wastes no time in running her hands all over Chloe's body—up her legs, over her annoyingly toned abdomen, over the swells of her breasts. Chloe throws her head back, her breath coming in short pants, making Beca's head swim with desire.

There's just one tiny, tiny problem.

Beca  _really_ has to pee.

She tries to ignore it, she does—but she's drunk and it's hard enough to just focus on Chloe, spread nearly naked in front of her.

Beca hates her life sometime.

"I have to pee," she blurts, eloquence obviously out the window. "I'll be right back."

"No," Chloe whines, tugging at the button of Beca's jeans.

It takes every ounce of Beca's willpower to pull away. "Just… one sec..." she says, hurrying to the bathroom as best she can without falling over.

Beca nearly kills herself trying to pull her very-tight jeans down, but she reemerges triumphantly a few minutes later, feeling like she might explode if Chloe doesn't touch her  _now_.

"Okay, I'm—" The  _ready_ dies on her tongue.

Because Chloe is passed out, asleep, red hair that has long since escaped its bun splayed against the blanket. And she's not just asleep—she's asleep and  _snoring_.

Goddammit.

Beca's  _never_ drinking tequila again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poems here are heavily based on/partially copied from poems by Dennis Rader, which are so fucking bizarre I can't even try to imitate it. Well, I did try, but for the full experience you should read the actual poems. You can read them here: http://www.freewebs.com/thebtksite/raderletters.htm


	7. Chapter 7

It takes Beca a full thirty-six hours to get over her hangover.

Her memory is a tad bit fuzzy, but waking up next to a barely clothed Chloe is a pretty good indication of what happened.

Also, her shirt and shoes were still on the floor of her hallway.

Thank God it's a Sunday.

It's a quiet, lazy day in Beca's apartment, with both of them seated on opposite ends of the couch, Chloe reviewing a case that had been sent to her from Quantico and Beca reading through the never-ending piles of tips.

They haven't really spoken about the previous night—in fact, Beca's not even sure Chloe remembers, aside from her grunt of "I'm never drinking again" when she wandered into the kitchen at 11 am in nothing but her underwear and one of Beca's oversized college t-shirts. (It's actually rather rude.)

By the time Beca's ready to scream if she sees one more complaint about someone's strange neighbor, Chloe nudges Beca's leg with her toe.

"What?" Beca looks up from her laptop, pulling out the pen that was dangling from her mouth.

"Remember when you said you'd watch a scary movie with me?" Chloe asks, and Beca marvels at the way she can look so angelic while a stack of rather gory crime-scene photos are clutched in her hands.  
"Yeah," Beca says, quirking an eyebrow. "After you said you'd teach me to cook."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I don't really feel like cooking," Chloe says with a laugh. "How about we order food and watch a movie?"

It actually sounds like a wonderful idea. "Sure," Beca says, moving her notes and laptop to the coffee table. "You want Thai or pizza?"

* * *

Beca only owns five DVDs, four of which were gifts from Jesse, so it's not too difficult to pick out a movie.

" _The Silence of the Lambs_  it is," Beca announces after pretending to mull over her options.

She's actually seen it a couple times—she can't argue with Jesse when he says it's "quality television." (Well, she'd argue that it isn't, in fact, television, but that's not terribly important.)

"Is that the one with the FBI agent?" Chloe asks from her spot on the couch, balancing a plate holding a slice of pizza in her lap.

"Yep," Beca says, putting the disc into the DVD player and settling beside her with the remote.

"One of the characters was modeled after John Douglas," Chloe says, taking a bite out of her pizza.

"Oh, cool." Beca takes a slice for herself. "Some of this is going to be a little inaccurate, just warning you," she tells Chloe.

"I'm still gonna point them out," Chloe says, angling her body towards Beca so she can prop her feet up in her lap.

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

They watch the movie in relative silence, Beca absently tracing patterns on Chloe's legs and the tops of her feet, with the occasional "fun fact" from Chloe about the FBI Academy.

As Clarice makes her way through Benjamin Raspail's storage unit, Beca can feel Chloe tensing with the ominous music that increases with volume. Glancing over, she sees that Chloe has her hands over her eyes, only watching through a slit between her fingers.

How this girl can look at gruesome crime scenes and be unaffected, Beca has no idea.

When Clarice finally unearths the head in the bottle and the music reaches a crescendo, Chloe squeaks, diving into Beca's lap and hiding her head on her shoulder.

"Oomph," Beca says, coughing, because she's pretty sure she just got kneed in the gut. Her arms instinctively wrap around Chloe's waist, the other girl's breath hot on her neck. "Look, Chlo, it's over," she says, and Chloe tentatively peeks back at the television.

Chloe breathes an audible sigh of relief, shifting so she's less directly on top of Beca, but remains close.

"How did you get through training?" Beca asks jokingly.

"Shut up," Chloe says, settling her head on Beca's shoulder. "There was no suspense building or scary music, mind you."

"If you say so." Beca smirks, but she can smell Chloe's shampoo—which is actually  _her_ shampoo—and it's wreaking havoc on her senses. The warm weight of Chloe's hand on her knee burns a hole through her jeans.

_What are you doing to me?_ Beca wonders to herself.

"What?" Chloe picks her head up to look at Beca.

So maybe it wasn't to herself. "Um, nothing," Beca says, hoping that Chloe doesn't see the heat creeping up her neck.

"If you say so," Chloe says, grinning, before settling back against Beca's side.

* * *

The thing about watching a movie with Chloe curled into Beca's side is that it's kind of impossible to focus—it becomes apparent that Chloe's not going to play nice.

They're about a third of the way through the movie when the hand on Beca's knee starts to move ever so slowly upwards.

Beca freezes, hoping that Chloe doesn't hear her breath hitch as her fingers drift up her leg, fingertips dragging teasingly.

Chloe runs her fingernail over the seam of Beca's jeans and then circles the button, causing Beca to shift her hips a little and exhale shakily.

Beca glances down, but Chloe still has her eyes on the television, casual as ever as she dips her hand just slightly under the waistband of Beca's pants, tracing the skin along the edge.

"Chloe," Beca grits out, sure that if she has to endure any more teasing she'll combust.

"Yes?" Chloe says, sitting up a little to look at Beca. There's a glint in her eye that makes Beca's heart rate pick up.

"You know what," Beca tells her, looking pointedly at the hand that still rests between her shit and her waistband.

"No," Chloe says innocently, looking at her with wide eyes, "I don't know what."

_Two can play at this game_ , Beca thinks. Tangling one hand in the red waves at the base of Chloe's neck, she connects their mouths, biting harshly at Chloe's bottom lip until the other girl whimpers.

Shifting onto her back so Chloe can settle on top of her, Beca settles her hands on Chloe's hips, pushing her t-shirt up to press into her smooth skin.

Pulling her mouth away with a devilish smirk, Chloe kisses her way down Beca's neck, urging her chin upward to suck on her pulse point.

Beca shifts restlessly, squirming underneath Chloe, her hands exploring the redhead's muscular back and firm, toned abdomen.

Chloe apparently has the same idea; her hands drag up Beca's sides, taking her shirt with her until the material is bunched just under Beca's breasts. She lowers her head to dip her tongue into the hollow between Beca's collarbones, and Beca can't stifle the quiet moan that escapes her lips. She can feel Chloe's smug smirk against her skin.

Licking her way back up to Beca's mouth, Chloe slips one of her legs in between both of Beca's. She kisses her fiercely, tongue sliding into Beca's mouth, teeth clicking together. Beca rakes her hands through Chloe's hair as Chloe urges her knee upwards, against Beca's center, as her fingertips edge along the underside of Beca's bra.

Beca can't breathe. She can't think. All she can hear is the pounding of her heart, her ears ringing.

Wait a second.

"Your phone," Chloe mumbles against her lips, hands retreating from Beca's chest.

"Wha?" Beca says breathlessly, senses still fuzzy.

In lieu of an answer, Chloe fumbles for the ringing phone, holding it up in front of Beca's face. "Jesse Swanson" lights up the screen, and Beca takes it and answers with a frustrated growl.

"This better be  _really_  damn important, Jesse,"she hisses, biting her lip at the sight of Chloe, lips swollen, hair mussed, and shirt disheveled.

"Sorry to interrupt," Jesse says, and the lack of an inappropriate joke makes Beca immediately concerned. "But there's been a murder."

"Oh, God," Beca says, sitting up and yanking her shirt back down.

"And there's a witness," Jesse tells her. "Like, an adult one this time."

"Okay, we'll be right there." Beca ends the call and turns to Chloe, who is smoothing her hair back into a bun.

"Body?" is all she asks, and Beca nods, grabbing the remote and pausing the long-forgotten movie.

"Yep." Beca stands, heading for her bedroom to change into something more professional than an old sweatshirt.

She should probably change her underwear, too.

* * *

When they arrive, the scene is already teeming with people, the red and blue lights of the police cars cutting through the dark and throwing shadows across the lawn of the little white clapboard house. Jesse comes meet them as they climb out of the car.

"What's the situation?" Beca asks. "Is it our guy?"

"I'm actually not sure," Jesse says, scratching at the back of his head. "The victims aren't actually here."

"What?" Beca asks, confused. "Victims? Two?"

"The EMTs took her to the hospital. She was still alive—barely, but alive—when they got here," Jesse explains. "Her husband, the witness, is also there."

"I thought you said it was a murder," Chloe says.

Jesse shrugs. "That's what I was told on the call. But I got here and the EMTs said that they took this woman to the hospital to treat her multiple stab wounds. The officer who responded to the call said the other guy is alive but being treated for gunshot wounds."

"So this isn't our guy?" Beca asks, more to Chloe than to Jesse.

Chloe shakes her head. "I can't say yet."

"The guy who got shot managed to get out of the house and flag down a passing car," Jesse tells them as they walk up the driveway. "And he called the cops. He says the guy was completely covered in blood."

Beca grimaces. "Wonderful."

They cross the lawn to meet Officer Bumper Allen. "Bumper responded to the call," Jesse says to Beca and Chloe before turning to Bumper. "Have you met Agent Beale?"

"I have not," Bumper says, shaking Chloe's hand.

"Please, call me Chloe," Chloe tells him with a smile. "What was the scene when you got here?" she asks.

"Well, I was originally told the intruder was still in the house," Bumper says. "So I bust open the door with my gun out, but the only person here was the victim. She was lying in a puddle of blood in the front room, and she was in pretty bad shape. Could barely talk. All she said was 'help me,' over and over. I asked her if she knew who did this and she shook her head. I radioed for an ambulance, and they took her about fifteen or twenty minutes ago."

"Okay," Chloe says, scribbling on the ever-present notepad she pulled out of her pocket. "Thank you."

"We can go inside and then meet the gunshot victim at the hospital for an interview," Jesse says, leading the way into the house.

They pause to slip on fabric shoe coverings, then duck underneath the crime scene tape and go inside.

The inside of the house is a disaster area. The front room, a little living room to the left of the door, had a large puddle of blood in the middle with a smear of blood leading up to it from the back of the house. It appeared that the victim had dragged herself there.

Cautiously, Beca follows the trail of blood to one of the bedrooms in the back, which was in even worse shape than the front. An overturned chair lay in the center of the room, next to which lay several pairs of knotted nylons. Beca surmises that the victim had been tied to the chair with them, but had somehow managed to get herself free. Three of the dresser drawers were open, one of them completely pulled out, clothes rumpled and spilling onto the floor.

Almost every surface of the room has some amount of blood spattered on it, and the air is thick and heavy. Beca can only imagine the horror that went on in here.

She feels a hand on the small of her back and jumps, but when she turns she sees it's just Chloe, who gives her a small smile. Beca can't help but flick her gaze down to her lips, and the smirk that curves Chloe's mouth tells her the other girl noticed.

Beca steps back into the hallway to let Chloe have a chance to look in the bedroom.

"Did I interrupt you two banging or something?" Jesse whispers in her ear, and Beca would shove him if she didn't worry she'd knock him into some important evidence or something.

"Somebody has been  _stabbed_ here, Jesse," she hisses back. Pushing past him, she pokes her head into the second bedroom.

The room isn't in quite as much disarray, but there's still a sufficient amount of blood on the floor. More nylons and a wrinkled and bloody pair of jeans lie in a heap on the floor. Beca spots a shell casing by the bed, and moving further into the room, she sees another next to the clothing. The room is otherwise relatively undisturbed, leading Beca to believe that the real scuffle occurred in the other bedroom.

There isn't much else in the one-story house besides a kitchen with a little dining alcove and a bathroom. The window on the door in the kitchen that leads into the backyard is smashed, glass scattered underneath it.  _Probably how the guy got in_ , Beca thinks.

"Hey, Bec," she hears Chloe call from down the hall.

"Yeah?" She heads back to where Chloe is standing inside the bathroom.

"Bullet hole," Chloe says, pointing to a small hole in the wall above a towel bar.

"What the hell went on in here?" Beca wonders aloud rhetorically.

Chloe just shakes her head. "Guess we'll have to ask."

* * *

Keith Jacobson is sitting up in his hospital bed when Beca, Chloe, and Jesse pay him a visit later that night. They were a bit concerned about the late hour, but the officer staying with him (to make sure the attempted killer didn't come back to try and silence his witness) had told Beca that Keith insisted on speaking to detectives that night.

Beca's never been a fan of hospitals—not since her dad was shot on duty once when she was eleven. The antiseptic smell and sterile white walls put her on edge.

"Hello, Mr. Jacobson," Chloe says easily, leaning over his bed to shake his hand. "I'm Agent Chloe Beale, and these are my colleagues, Detectives Beca Mitchell and Jesse Swanson."

"Nice to meet you," Keith rasps, his voice rough. He has a nasty gash on his upper lip that has been stitched back together and a bandage on his forehead. There's a bruise ringed around his neck, like somebody had tried to garrote him.

_Maybe it is our guy_ , Beca thinks.

"Is it difficult to speak?" Chloe asks, frowning concernedly as she takes a seat in one of the chairs positioned by the bed, notepad propped on her knees.

"A bit, but…" Keith says, clearing his throat gently. "I want this guy caught as soon as possible."

"So why don't you tell us what happened, from the beginning? And if at any time you need to stop, just let us know," Chloe says. "I understand your wife was the other victim."

Beca pulls a recorder out of her bag, switching it on and placing it on the little rolling table above the bed.

"Yes, that's true," Keith says, sighing heavily. "She's in surgery right now. We had gone out to get a couple of things from the drugstore, and when we got home there was a man in our house. He had a gun, and he pointed it at us and told us that he was running from police and was trying to get to New York. He said he needed our car keys and $100."

"What did he look like?" Beca interjects.

"He was a little bit taller than me. He had dark hair and he was kind of overweight. He had glasses, and had on a jacket, jeans and gloves."

Beca and Chloe exchange a look.  _Sounds like the man Victoria saw._

"We told him we'd give him anything he wanted. He ordered us into our bedroom and made me tie my wife to a chair with her stockings," Keith whispers, his voice cracking a little bit. He pauses a moment to regain his composure. "Then he pointed the gun at me and made me go into the spare bedroom. He tied my hands with a pair of stockings and my legs with a pair of jeans. He left for a few minutes, and it sounded like he was going through the drawers in the kitchen.

"Then he came back to where I was, and his jacket had blood all over it. He tried to strangle me with a pair of stockings, but I managed to get my hands untied. I got up and went to try and grab the gun, but he shot me." Keith points to the bandage on his head. "It knocked me out for a bit. When I woke up, Julie was"—his voice breaks again—"screaming, 'You shot my husband!' over and over.

"I untied my legs and tried to stand again, but I guess the guy heard me because he came back into the room. I reached for his gun again and he shot me in the mouth." Keith gestures to the wound on his mouth. I fell, and the guy tried to strangle me again, but Julie started screaming so he ran back to the other room.

"I blacked out again, but when I woke up I decided that the best thing to do would be to try and get help. So I ran out the door and flagged down the first person to pass me."

"Did he say anything to you or your wife?" Chloe asks.

"Not much other than 'shut up,'" Keith answers, his voice growing even fainter.

"Thank you for your time," Chloe says.

Beca turns off the recorder and tells Keith, "We'll have someone come by to make a composite sketch, okay?"

Keith nods, looking exhausted.

"Our thoughts are with you and your wife," Jesse says, standing and shaking Keith's hand.

They file out of the room, and Beca nods to the officer by the door as they leave.

"What do you think?" Jesse says, his voice low to keep from being overheard. "You think this is our guy?"

"It sounds like it is," Chloe says. "We know that he's used a gun as a means of control in the past, and the physical description matches the one from Victoria Albright."

"And he attempted strangulation and tried to tie his victims up," Beca says. "But it sounds like he didn't bring any materials with him this time."

"He's getting sloppy," Chloe tells them as they exit the hospital. "That's good news for us."

"Was he sloppy enough this time?" Beca wonders as she unlocks her car. "Or do we have to wait until he gets even sloppier next time."

Chloe can only shrug.

* * *

Beca's phone rings around three in the morning, startling her out of her light sleep. Carefully, she extricates herself from Chloe's arms to scoot across the bed to reach her phone on the nightstand.

"Hello?" she croaks, trying to keep her voice low so she doesn't disturb Chloe.

"Hi," says the voice on the other line. "It's Luke." Beca is immediately concerned—Luke is the officer stationed outside of Keith Jacobson's door. "Sorry for the late hour, but I'm calling to let you know that Julie Jacobson has passed away."

"Oh," Beca says, looking over her shoulder when she feels Chloe stirring. "Thank you for letting me know."

"Who's that?" Chloe mumbles, her eyes still half shut.

"Luke," Beca whispers, settling back down and resting her head on Chloe's collarbone. "Julie Jacobson died."

Chloe runs her hand through Beca's hair soothingly. "We'll catch this guy."

"I know."


	8. Chapter 8

A week passes. And then another. And another.

The composite made with the help of Keith Jacobson is shown to just about everyone Beca can get her hands on in a twenty-mile radius. It's shown on the news and on social media, and posted randomly around town.

Nothing.

(Well, they do get a lot of "that looks like my brother's best friend's cousin's hairdresser," but nothing of value.)

They interview everyone they can and keep up with the tips, but eventually the spring runs dry.

And then one day, Chloe gets a call.

They're just sitting down to dinner—a stir-fry Chloe taught Beca to make—when Chloe's phone rings. Usually, Chloe would just ignore it, but when she looks at the caller ID she answers it immediately, excusing herself with an apologetic smile and moving to take it into the other room.

Beca pokes at the food on her plate as she listens to Chloe's half of the conversation—the occasional "Mhm" and "okay" giving her no clues as to who's calling or why.

After a few minutes, Chloe comes back and sits down. "Sorry about that," she says, picking up her fork.

"Who was that?" Beca feels nervous, because Chloe isn't really meeting her eyes.

"Um," Chloe says, stalling for a moment by taking a bite. "That was the head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit."

All of a sudden, Beca's lost her appetite. "What did he say?" she asks quietly.

Chloe sighs and looks up at Beca. "Since the case isn't… progressing, they want me to come back for the time being."

Beca drops her fork, feeling sick. And then angry with herself for her reaction.

She wasn't supposed to get attached, wasn't supposed to fall; she knew this was only temporary, that Chloe lives in Virginia.

"When?" Beca whispers.

"As soon as possible."

The words feel like lead inside Beca's stomach. Chloe reaches for her hand, but the contact burns her skin and Beca yanks her hand back, standing abruptly.

"I, um," Beca says, willing her voice not to crack. "Excuse me."

She goes into her bedroom and shuts the door, sinking down on the bed and taking deep breaths. It's hard to clear her head when her sheets smell like Chloe's perfume and Chloe's things are scattered about the room—a jacket over the back of a chair, her shoes haphazardly kicked off by the closet, her rings on the nightstand.

Beca doesn't have any right to be pissed; she knew that Chloe would eventually have to go back, and it's not like Chloe even asked to go back in the first place. But she still feels like breaking something.

She hates needing people.

A soft knock sounds on the door, and Beca hastily wipes at her eyes, trying to regain come of her composure.

"Beca?" Chloe says hesitantly, gently pushing open the door, her face grim with concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Beca tries to say, but it comes out garbled.

Chloe comes to sit next to Beca on the bed—slowly, like she's worried she might scare Beca away. She seems to sense that Beca doesn't want to talk, so she instead just wraps an arm around Beca, pulling her close.

Beca tucks her head in the crook of Chloe's neck, inhaling the scent of Chloe's perfume mixed with her (well, Beca's) shampoo. A few tears leak out of her eyes without her permission, falling onto Chloe's neck. It makes the other girl hold her tighter.

They just sit like that for a while until Beca feels like she can speak without her throat closing. "It's not fair," she whispers, not caring that she sounds like a petulant child.

"I know." Chloe pulls back a little to face Beca. She brushes Beca's hair out of her eyes and gently wipes away the remaining stray tears with her thumbs. Tangling her hand in the hair on the back of Beca's head, Chloe presses their lips together in a sweet kiss.

Beca kisses back, immediately allowing Chloe's tongue entrance. But it's hard to enjoy the kiss when she's wondering in the back of her mind when she's going to be able to kiss Chloe again.

When they part, Chloe whispers against her lips, "Come with me."

"What?" Beca searches Chloe's wide eyes, confused.

"Come back with me," Chloe says again. "Take a few days off, come visit Quantico."

"Really?" Beca asks as Chloe nips at her jaw.

"Really," Chloe mumbles against Beca's skin, sending shivers down Beca's spine.

"We're only prolonging the inevitable," Beca says breathlessly.

"I don't care."

"Okay," Beca agrees, then whines when Chloe pulls her mouth away.

"We better get a move on these plans, then," Chloe says, digging under a couple of shirts on the floor to uncover her laptop from where she'd dumped it the night before. "We'll probably have to get on a plane tomorrow."

Beca just sits there, a little dumbfounded at how quickly things are happening.

"Beca, you have to start packing," Chloe says, digging in the closet for the suitcase she brought with her when she first came to Georgia. (The sight of it kind of makes Beca's chest hurt.)

"Okay, okay," Beca says, sliding off the bed and joining reaching around Chloe for a duffel bag.

"Pack a nice dress and some heels," Chloe calls over her shoulder as she goes to gather her things from the bathroom.

"What?" Beca yells after her. "Why?"

"You'll see!"

* * *

Aubrey isn't thrilled that Beca abruptly informs her she needs to take a few days off starting  _now_ , but Beca manages to pawn her cases off on other detectives, so Aubrey reluctantly agrees.

By the early evening, Beca and Chloe are boarding their flight to Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport.

There's just one  _tiny_ issue: Beca hates flying.

She isn't quite sure what it is that makes me so nervous; rationally, she knows there's only a minuscule chance that the plane is going to crash.

It makes her feel kind of stupid—she's a  _homicide detective_ , for Christ's sake, and she's afraid of airplanes.

Beca tries to keep her breathing under control, gripping the armrest so hard her knuckles turn white. Chloe looks at her concernedly, and Beca tries to force a smile but it probably comes off as more of a grimace.

"Are you okay?" Chloe asks.

"Fine," Beca grits out.

"Are you afraid of flying?" Chloe's tone isn't pitying or patronizing, which Beca appreciates.

"I'm… not a fan," Beca allows.

Carefully, Chloe pries Beca's fingers off of the armrest, instead linking them with her own. "If you need to, just squeeze," she says. "As hard as you need to."

"Okay," Beca says, hating how weak her voice sounds. She screws her eyes shut as she feels the plane start to move, trying to focus on breathing in and out, but when the plane begins to lift off of the runway Beca starts to panic.

"Beca," Chloe says, her voice low. "Beca, look at me."

Beca opens her eyes. Chloe's face is calm, albeit the fact that Beca is probably cutting off the circulation in her hand.

"Deep breath in," Chloe coaches, and Beca forces herself to take in as much air as she can. "And out… good. And in. And out."

Beca scrunches her eyes closed to focus on the sound of Chloe's voice, and after a few moments she begins to feel calmer. She relaxes her hand, feeling slightly guilty that she probably just broke at least three of Chloe's bones.

"Thanks," she breathes, and Chloe just smiles at her in response.

Chloe's smile quickly turns mischievous, and she looks over her shoulder to make sure there isn't a flight attendant or someone getting up to go to the bathroom that could overhear. "If you want," Chloe purrs, teasingly edging her fingers along the inner seam of Beca's jeans, "I can distract you."

"Chloe!" Beca looks at her disbelievingly, sure she's blushing.

"Relax," Chloe says, chuckling and sitting back in her seat. "I was just kidding."

"I hate you," Beca grumbles.

Well, at least she's distracted now.

* * *

It's dark by the time they disembark the plane in Washington, D.C., but they still have to drive forty-five minutes to Chloe's apartment in Triangle, Virginia, near Quantico.

Chloe's apartment is immaculate, which is kind of strange considering she constantly left her crap all over Beca's apartment. Then again, she hasn't lived here in two months.

Beca glances around as she follows Chloe inside, pausing to look at the framed photographs lining the walls. It occurs to Beca that she doesn't know who any of these people are. It feels strange.

They walk past a little guest room on the way down the hall, but Chloe bypasses it and instead leads Beca right into her bedroom, which, even after all this time, still smells like Chloe.

"The bathroom is the door to the left," Chloe says, unzipping her suitcase and stuffing some t-shirts in a drawer. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks," Beca says, pulling a t-shirt and shorts out of her duffel. When she looks up, Chloe is half-naked in front of her, wearing only her bra and underwear as she digs in her dresser for pajamas.

"Whoa, okay." Beca whirls around, feeling the tips of her ears burn as Chloe laughs.

"Okay, I'm decent now," she says, flopping down on the bed.

"I'm just gonna…" Beca gestures in the direction of the bathroom.

"Not like I haven't already seen most of it." Chloe winks at her.

"Shut up," Beca mumbles, shutting herself into the bathroom.

She changes and brushes her teeth quickly, then splashes some cool water on her face in an attempt to make it less red.

Chloe is already under the covers when Beca comes back in. She turns off the lights and climbs into the bed, gravitating towards Chloe in a way that's become habit.

"Good night," she murmurs, suddenly exhausted.

"Night." Chloe slings an arm across Beca's midsection, tangling their legs together.

Beca let's the even rhythm of Chloe's breathing lull her to sleep, trying not to think about how soon she'll have to learn to sleep alone.

* * *

Beca wakes up wrapped in Chloe's arms. It takes her a moment to remember where she is and why, but she tries to push those thoughts out of her head and instead focus on the warm weight of Chloe's head on her shoulder.

The sun is just beginning to peek over the trees outside of the window, so Beca knows it's still quite early. She lies still, gently running her fingers through Chloe's soft hair, feeling the warmth of Chloe's breath against her collarbone.

Eventually, Chloe begins to stir. She yawns, eyes blinking open blearily.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Beca says quietly.

"Mmph," Chloe grunts, rolling off of Beca, sitting up, and stretching her arms over her head. "Morning," she says, her voice scratchy.

"So what's on the roster for today?" Beca asks, realizing that she agreed to come here without actually knowing what they'd be doing.

Chloe rolls out of the bed and opens her closet, pawing through the hanging garments. "I am taking you on a tour of the National Academy," she says, flinging a blazer and a pair of pants onto the bed. "And then tonight I'm taking you somewhere special."

"Are you going to tell me what it is?" Beca kicks back the covers and gathers her clothes.

"Nope," Chloe says with a smile and a wink. "I'm gonna go take a shower. We'll leave in about an hour?" Beca nods, and Chloe disappears around the corner.

After getting dressed, Beca digs around in Chloe's kitchen. Her refrigerator and pantry are even more barren than Beca's, although it's not like anyone had been around to grocery shopping.

Luckily, Beca finds a box of pancake mix, and she sets to work, flipping pancakes while faint strains of "Titanium" come from down the hall. She's gotten used to Chloe's shower singing by now, although she still wonders why Chloe sings that song so often.

* * *

Beca's obviously never been there, but the FBI Academy isn't quite what she expected. Well, she didn't really know what she expected, but it wasn't something that looks like a cross between a college campus and an industrial park.

"Welcome to my world," Chloe says as she parks her car.

"This is… wow," Beca says, getting out of the car and looking around at all the buildings. "Bigger than I thought it would be."

"Yeah, you better stick with me so you don't get lost." Chloe pokes her tongue out and winks, locking her car behind her.

Beca follows Chloe along the path, with Chloe periodically pointing to buildings and identifying them. "Most of these buildings are dormitories," she explains. "I'll walk you through the training academy."

"Okay," Beca says, looking all around her as Chloe pulls open the door of a large building and holds it open for her.

Beca notices a plaque on the wall bearing the image of J. Edgar Hoover, and she pauses to read the inscription: _The father of modern law enforcement, whose insight made this academy possible._

"This is where the Bureau trains new agents," Chloe says as they walk down the hallway. They pass several people in navy blue polo shirts and khakis, at whom Chloe smiles. "Newbies," she whispers to Beca.

They weave down mazes of hallways and through doors. "This is the Forensic Science Research and Training Center," Chloe says. "And this"—she gestures to a room on their left that's filled with waist-height wooden tables—"is the gun cleaning room. You might recognize it from  _The Silence of the Lambs_." Beca can hear popping noises from behind the room—gunfire.

"How would you know?" Beca jokes. "You didn't really pay attention."

Chloe laughs and shoves at her shoulder lightly. She points to an elevator across the hall. "That's the elevator Clarice took down to the BSU, which is now called the BAU. That's my unit." She leads Beca down more hallways. They pass several laboratories filled with people hunched over microscopes or stacks of papers or chemistry equipment.

"The BAU used to be underneath the library," Chloe explains, "but they moved it here in the forensic science building. It's an upgrade from being underground, but sometimes the fumes make me nauseous." Chloe makes a face. "Or sometimes there's smoke or explosions. We have to evacuate a lot," she says with a laugh.

They finally come to a stop in front of a door. "Here we are," Chloe says, pushing it open.

Beca jumps. They're greeted by a life-size statue of straitjacket-clad Hannibal Lecter, standing upright in a little cage.

Chloe giggles. "Sorry, I probably should have warned you." She gestures to a button on the side of the cage. "Press it."

"Why?" Beca asks warily.

"Just do it," Chloe says, nudging Beca's arm. "Nothing's gonna jump out and bite you, I promise."

Cautiously, Beca presses the button.

"A census taker once tried to test me," a recorded voice says. "I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti."

Beca jumps back as the infamous slurping noise shudders out of the speaker. "Never say the FBI doesn't have a sense of humor," she mutters to Chloe.

Chloe laughs. "Come on, I'll show you around my unit."

The hallway is dotted with offices on either side, in which Beca can see people reading, working on their computers, and furiously scribbling in notebooks. There's a small alcove with a coffee machine, much like the one in the Barden Police Department.

"Welcome to the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime," Chloe says with a grand gesture and a smile. "What we do here is use behavioral sciences to assist in criminal investigations. We offer investigative and operational support to federal, state, local, and foreign law enforcement agencies investigating unusual or repetitive violent crimes by applying case experience, research, and training to complex and time-sensitive crimes, typically involving acts or threats of violence."

"Have you rehearsed this speech?" Beca jokes.

"A few times." Chloe grins and sticks out her tongue at Beca. (It's a gesture that Beca probably shouldn't find attractive.)

"Hey, Chloe!" someone says behind them.

They turn to see a middle-aged man with horn-rimmed glasses. "Jay!" Chloe exclaims. "Hello, how are you?"

"I'm well," Jay says, clapping Chloe on the back. "Haven't seen you in awhile."

"I've been in Georgia working on a case," Chloe says, then gestures to Beca. "This is Detective Beca Mitchell from the Barden Police Department in Georgia."

"Nice to meet you," Jay says, shaking Beca's hand.  
"You, too," Beca returns.

"I'm showing her around today," Chloe explains.

"Nice. You two have fun," Jay says, excusing himself. "I've got to get back to work. Good to have you back."

Chloe nods politely. "See you later." She turns back to Beca. "Come on, I'll show you Hogan's Alley."

"Hogan's what?"

* * *

"This," Chloe says, spreading her arms wide, "is Hogan's Alley."

Beca looks around, the cool outdoor wind blowing her hair into her face. She's standing in the middle of what looks like an actual town, but she knows they're still on Academy grounds.

"This is a realistic training ground FBI and DEA agents," Chloe says. "Complete with a bank, pharmacy, post office, hotel, pool hall, Laundromat, radio station, theater, and a park."

"Wow," Beca says, impressed by how real everything looks. She follows Chloe down the sidewalk.

Suddenly, gunshots ring out, and Beca whips her head around.

"Don't worry," Chloe says, putting a hand on Beca's shoulder. "It's just a raid drill. They're simulated munitions." At Beca's consumed glance, she clarifies, "Essentially realistic paintball guns. You get used to it." She points to the bank across the street. "The bank gets robbed at least twice a week, and we've got tons of mobsters, drug dealers, and terrorists. They're played by actors to help new agents learn tactical techniques and how to incorporate basic tactics, investigative techniques, firearms skills, and defensive tactics in order to make the right decision in simulated scenarios."

"Do any of these places sell food?" Beca asks as her stomach makes a loud and rather unattractive rumbling noise.

"No," Chloe says, looking at her watch, "but we can go to the cafeteria."

Beca follows Chloe out of the Alley and through a courtyard. They pause in front of a small black marble statue.

"This is the 9/11 memorial," Chloe says, gesturing to the Twin Towers replica. On one of them is the inscription,  _Dedicated to the courage, spirit, and sacrifice of those who perished in the struggle to save others and those who persevered to protect freedom. Sept. 11, 2001._

"And this"—Chloe points to the broken bits of stone and concrete that surround the statue—"is debris United Flight #93, the Pentagon, and the World Trade Center."

Beca nods solemnly, gently placing her hand on Chloe's upper arm.

They stare at the memorial in silence for a few moments before Chloe turns to Beca. The sun illuminates her hair from behind, giving her an ethereal, angelic look. "Lunch?" she asks.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

"You make them run a six-mile obstacle course?"

"Well,  _I_ don't," Chloe says, poking at one of the cucumbers on her salad. "But you have to do it if you want to do the National Academy program."

"Ugh," Beca groans, dragging a French fry through ketchup. "I am never doing that program."

"You should do it." Chloe leans forward. "You'd be great at it."

"Um, hello? Six miles? Obstacle course? No, thank you." Beca pops the fry in her mouth. "I'll get back to you when I master the stairs to my apartment."

Chloe rolls her eyes and spears a grape tomato with her fork. "So you don't want to try out any of the fancy agent training equipment?" she jokes.

"Fuck no." Beca brushes the salt off of her hands and wipes her mouth. "I did my time running around."

"Yeah, you should probably save your stamina for tonight," Chloe says with a smirk and a wink. Beca just stares back at her, slightly open-mouthed.

"Okay, you  _cannot_ just say those things to me in public, Chloe," Beca hisses, feeling heat rise on her cheeks.

Chloe just smiles and whispers something that Beca can't repeat in her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer—I've never been to the FBI Academy. This is based on articles I've read, stuff you can find on Wikipedia and the FBI's website, and John Douglas's books.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've considered deleting this chapter, smashing my computer, changing my name, and moving to Canada at least thirty times in the week and a half since I wrote this. So... let's not be dicks about it.

Chloe  _still_ won't tell Beca where they're going.

When they'd gotten back to Chloe's apartment, all Chloe had said was to "dress up." Beca obligingly donned the black dress and nude pumps Chloe had told her to pack.

The sight of Chloe in a navy blue dress that hugged her every curve, hair swept up elegantly, had taken Beca's breath away.

She can't stop staring at Chloe the entire car ride to wherever it is they're going. Beca wants to remember every detail—the curve of Chloe's jawline, the way her earrings sway when she turns her head, the soft glow of her skin in the evening light.

Beca would happily go anywhere as long as she's with Chloe.

That kind of terrifies her.

Finally, Chloe pulls the car into a parking lot near the ocean.

"We're here," she announces, twisting around to grab her clutch from the backseat and opening the door.

Beca slides out of the car, reveling in the salty smell of the ocean in front of them. She doesn't get to see it very often, living nearly four hours away from the coast.

It's then that she notices the very large, well-lit boat looming in front of them, the gangplank between the dock and its deck tilting slightly with the waves.

"Is that where we're going?" Beca asks as Chloe wraps a shawl around her shoulders.

"Surprise!" Chloe responds, grabbing Beca's hand and leading her up the walkway. "DC has lovely dinner cruises."

Beca clutches at the railing with one hand, holding tightly to Chloe's hand in the other. She appreciates the ocean on dry land, but she's always been a bit wary of being in it. (Or, rather, floating on top of it.)

They're greeted by a sharply dressed maître d', who smiles at them and welcomes them aboard.

"I have a reservation for Chloe Beale," Chloe says, still holding Beca's hand in her own.

The man scans his list. "Ah, yes," he says, and gestures for the pair to follow him. "Right this way."

He seats them a little table-for-two along the edge of the boat, so they have a spectacular view of the city.

"This is beautiful," Chloe gushes, and Beca murmurs her agreement. The lights of the buildings sparkle in the fading light, and the water laps gently against the hull of the boat. A soft breeze lightly lifts the tendrils of hair that have escaped Chloe's updo. Chloe catches Beca staring, but Beca just smiles softly and tangles her fingers with Chloe's on the table.

"Hello, my name is John and I'll be your server today," a man says, leather-bound menus in his arms. "How are you ladies this evening?"

"Fine, thank you," Chloe says politely, accepting a menu.

"May I get you some drinks?" John asks, and Chloe orders a bottle of expensive red wine before Beca can stop her.

"Chloe," Beca scolds once John is out of earshot. "You don't have to spend that kind of money on me."

Chloe shrugs. "I want to," she says simply, with a gentle smile that makes Beca's stomach flutter.

John returns a few minutes later with a bottle and two wine goblets, which he carefully fills before asking if they're ready to order.

Chloe orders some sort of fancy salad with a kind of meat that Beca can't pronounce, and she orders some seafood thing, only because she actually recognizes all the ingredients.

John excuses himself again, and Chloe reaches for her glass to taste the wine. She takes a sip and immediately makes this muffled half-moaning sound that sends shivers down Beca's spine.

"This is so good," Chloe says once she's swallowed. "Forget doing nice things for you—this is worth it even if I were alone."

"Gee, thanks," Beca says sarcastically, and Chloe nudges her leg with her foot under the table.

"You know what I mean." Chloe puts her nose to the glass and inhales deeply before putting it back down. "Beca, I know that the current circumstances aren't… ideal—"

"Can we maybe talk about this later?" Beca pleads quietly. "I don't want to think about that."

"Okay," Chloe agrees, giving Beca's hand a small squeeze. "But we have to talk about it sometime."

"I know." Beca averts her eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the emotions she's been trying to suppress for two months now. She squeezes her eyes shut momentarily and takes a deep breath.

"You okay?" Chloe inquires.

Beca opens her eyes again, plastering a smile on her face. "Fine." She decides to change the subject. "What do you do around here for fun?"

Chloe humors her. "I don't have a lot of free time because of work. My idea of fun is usually going for a run."

"How exciting," Beca drawls.

"It's better than eating takeout alone in my apartment all the time," Chloe shoots back, and Beca gasps dramatically.

"You wound me, Beale," she says, voice dripping with sarcasm, clutching at her chest. "And I also sometimes drink alone in my apartment, too."

Chloe rolls her eyes and ignores her. "I don't come into the city very often because it's a bit of a hike, but I do love the crime museum."

"Do you not get enough crime at work?" Beca raises an eyebrow.

Chloe shrugs. "It's a really cool museum. I also like the Holocaust museum, but I wouldn't say I go there for fun."

"I went there once on a class trip," Beca says.

"The Bureau takes all new agents there as part of their ethics training," Chloe tells her, taking another sip of wine.

John appears again with two steaming plates, which he sets on their table carefully. "Enjoy," he says with a half-bow. "Let me know if there is anything else I can get you."

"Thank you," Chloe says with a smile.

Beca's always been wary of fancy food—mostly because she's never quite sure what, exactly, is in it. She can identify shrimp, scallops, and lobster as she pokes at the food on her plate, but decides to just bite the bullet and brings a forkful to her mouth.

"Oh, my God," Beca says, not caring that her mouth is full and it's probably unattractive. "This is  _amazing_."

"So is this," Chloe says, her eyes closing momentarily as she chews. "You  _have_ to try it."

Beca eyes the dark greens a piece of tender meat speared on Chloe's fork. She doesn't particularly want to try it, but she just can't seem to say no to Chloe. Reluctantly, she accepts the fork between her lips.

Her eyes widen in surprise at the flavor. "That's really good." Chloe just grins at her, reaching across the table to snag a piece of Beca's shrimp. "Are we going to be one of those couples who eats off of each other's plates?" she jokes.

Chloe looks at her with an expression Beca can't quite read. "Are we a couple?"

"Um." Beca tries to tread carefully, unsure what Chloe's thinking. "Kind of?"

"Beca, relax." Chloe smiles again, and Beca breathes a sigh of relief. "Do you want to be a couple?"

"Do you?" Beca deflects. (She can't help it—her natural instinct is to run far, far away in the face of commitment,)

Chloe rolls her eyes and huffs a little. "Beca Mitchell, will you be my girlfriend?"

"What are we, in high school?" Beca asks nervously. Of  _course_  she wants to be Chloe's girlfriend. (The thought sends shivers down her spine). But does she want to enter a grown-up  _relationship_ with six hundred miles between them?

_Fuck it_ , she thinks. You only get to be Chloe Beale's girlfriend once.

"Yes," Beca decides. "Yes," she repeats with a little eye roll, "I will be your girlfriend."

"Good," Chloe says, looking very pleased, and Beca finds herself smiling back. "Oh, and Beca?"

"Hmm?" Beca looks up, a scallop halfway to her mouth.

"The things I'm gonna do to you later?" Chloe's leaning forward and has that  _let's-push-Beca's-buttons_ look on her face. "Definitely not appropriate for high schoolers." She winks before resuming eating.

Beca nearly drops her fork as her entire body flushes hot, from her scalp to her toes. The images that flood her brain—Chloe flat on her back on the bed, hair splayed around her sweaty face; Chloe's back arching as she cries Beca's name; Chloe's naked chest flushed and heaving—make her feel like a fifteen-year-old boy. She resents that, and it's frustratingly punctuated by the fact that Chloe is eating her dinner innocently, even though Beca is sure she knows the effect her words are having.

"Chloe," Beca says; she tries for a warning tone, but it comes out slightly strangled.

Chloe just winks at her again, and Beca is absolutely sure that this is how she's going to die.

* * *

Beca looks out over the harbor, relishing the cool breeze on her face. Once they'd finished dessert, they made their way up to the top deck.

The sight of her girlfriend— _my girlfriend_ , Beca thinks giddily— leaning over the rail, wind blowing the stray hairs at the back of her neck, smiling softly, leaves Beca breathless. She reaches over to nudge Chloe's hand palm-up so she can tangle their fingers together. Beca wishes she could hold onto this moment forever—she's been romanced, wined and dined, but no one has done it quite like Chloe Beale.

"What?" Chloe asks, looking back at Beca, eyes wide and shining.

Beca hesitates; she's never been the  _feelings_ type, and has always balked at being vulnerable. But no one has made her feel as wanted as Chloe has, as accepted.

As loved.

"You're so beautiful," Beca says, surprised at how easily the words come out.

Chloe's face lights up with a grin, and she slips her hand out of Beca's in favor of sliding it around her waist to pull her in for a short but sweet kiss. Chloe cups Beca's cheek with her other hand, gently stroking with her thumb when they break apart. She looks at Beca reverently, like she's the only person on the planet.

_I love you_ , Beca wants to say, but the words get stuck in her throat. She vowed to herself that she wouldn't be the first one to say it—not after the last (and only other) person she really, truly did love got spooked and ran.

Plus, she's only been Chloe's official girlfriend for about an hour.

Instead, Beca clears her throat and looks back out over the water, Chloe's arm still wrapped around her.

Beca finds she's reluctant to leave when the boat finally docks and they're ushered back onto land. She stands with Chloe for a moment, looking at the sparkling lights of the city over the water for a final few minutes. The temperature has dropped considerably since they arrived, and Chloe leads Beca back to her car when she notices Beca shivering.

They're quiet as Chloe pulls out of the parking lot. Beca watches the city retreat into the distance through the window, then turns back to her girlfriend. (The word  _still_ makes her stomach flip.)

"Thank you," Beca says quietly, and Chloe reaches over to squeeze Beca's hand, eyes still on the road. "This was really nice."

"You're welcome." Once Chloe merges onto the highway, she turns to look at Beca briefly. Her sly smirk makes Beca's heart rate pick up. "Just wait until we get home. It'll be anything  _but_ nice."

"Do they train you in teasing at the Academy?" Beca grumbles, mostly to herself, but Chloe laughs.

"No, but they did teach me how to be quick on the trigger, if you know what I mean."

Beca groans and thunks her head lightly against the window. "You're actually a teenage boy. Did you know that?"

"You're not going to be saying that in about an hour." Chloe takes her eyes off of the road long enough to wink at Beca (again).

Beca just shakes her head and closes her mouth, not wanting to egg Chloe on.

She's not sure she'd survive it.

* * *

Beca follows Chloe through the door to her apartment, down the hall, and into the bedroom.

She's not sure what, exactly, she's expecting, but she's a little confused when Chloe proceeds to take off her shoes and put them neatly away in the closet.

Beca stands near the door, watching dumbly as Chloe carefully unpins her hair, placing the bobby pins on top of her dresser, and brushes out her red waves until her hair is loose around her shoulders. Beca kicks off her own shoes just to have something to do.

Finally, Chloe turns back to her, hands folded demurely in front of her. Holding eye contact, Chloe unzips the side of her dress, torturously slowly. She peels it off of her shoulders, letting it pool on the ground at her feet.

Beca just stares, mouth dry, at Chloe standing before her wearing only a black lace bra, matching panties, and a look that very clearly says  _what are you going to do about it?_

Chloe steps forward, out of the dress, and Beca remembers how to move again, tangling one hand in Chloe's hair to bring their lips together. She splays the other hand against Chloe's back, relishing in the feeling of her warm, soft skin.

Chloe fumbles against Beca's back for the zipper on her dress, pulling it down hastily. She bites down harshly on Beca's lower lip as she divests her girlfriend of her dress, shoving it impatiently down Beca's body.

Chloe pulls back enough for Beca to kick the dress off of her feet and out of the way. Her eyes rake down the brunette's exposed form, and Beca thanks God that her underwear—while not being terribly sexy—at least matches.

Reaching forward, Chloe hooks her fingers in Beca's bra straps, pulling her back once more. She kisses Beca again, dragging her fingernails bluntly down Beca's back.

Beca shivers, a moan escaping her lips before she can stop it; Chloe takes the opportunity to slip her tongue into Beca's mouth, rolling it across her teeth in a way that makes Beca's knees weak, and her eyes flutter shut.

Chloe trails her fingers back up; Beca feels a tug on her bra clasp, and her breath hitches in anticipation. The material loosens around her ribs, and Chloe flings it to the floor. Beca opens her eyes to see Chloe's pupils dilate.

Chloe's fingertips teasingly trace patterns over Beca's breasts, skirting around her nipples until Beca grows in frustration, shifting restlessly on her feet.

"Bed," Chloe mumbles against Beca's neck, where she's started leaving a trail of kisses from Beca's ear to her shoulder.

It sounds like a very good idea to Beca, who obligingly allows Chloe to back her onto the mattress. Settling onto her back, she pulls Chloe down on top of her, relishing in the feeling of every inch of their bodies pressing together.

Chloe immediately resumes kissing down Beca's neck, over her collarbones, and on the tops of Beca's breasts. It's driving Beca mad, and she's probably left little grooves in Chloe's shoulders from her fingernails by the time she feels Chloe's breath ghost across her nipple.

"Fuck," Beca hisses when Chloe  _finally_  drags the flat of her tongue over her nipple. Her thighs tighten around Chloe's hips where she's settled between them. She feels Chloe smirk against her skin, her other hand coming up to roll Beca's right nipple between her thumb and index finger.

Beca's hands scrabble for purchase on Chloe's back, her fingers brushing the clasp of Chloe's bra, and she suddenly remembers that Chloe is still wearing hers. It takes her a moment of fumbling to get it undone (her brain isn't exactly at maximum capacity right now), but Chloe pulling her mouth away from Beca's breasts to pull the bra off and toss it to the floor is  _so_ worth it.

Beca runs her hands over between Chloe's breasts, brushing over the toned abdomen that she probably should thank the FBI Academy for. Impatiently, Chloe grabs Beca's hands and places them directly on her breasts.

Beca chuckles. "Demanding," she says, surprised at the low octave of her voice. Her laughter turns to a gasp when she feels Chloe's nipples harden against her palms as she squeezes experimentally.

Chloe's eyes fall shut for a moment, her breath coming in short pants as Beca pinches her nipples between her fingers, nipping softly at her neck as she does so.

Urgently, Chloe grabs Beca's chin and guides their lips back together, sucking on Beca's bottom lip in a way that distracts her from the hand slowly moving south.

Chloe's fingers dip just under the waistband of Beca's panties, running along the elastic teasingly. Beca breaks out of the kiss with a gasp, her hips bucking involuntarily.

Hooking her fingers under the fabric, Chloe looks at Beca, silently asking permission. Beca nods frantically, positive that if Chloe doesn't touch her soon she'll combust.

Chloe seems fully prepared to take her sweet time, but Beca nudges her with her foot and growls, "Don't even think about it."

Chloe just raises her eyebrows and tugs the panties down Beca's legs, tossing them over her shoulder. She moves to crawl back up Beca's body, but Beca holds up a hand. "Quid pro quo, doctor," she says, gesturing to Chloe's underwear which is still, frustratingly, on her body.

"Are you really quoting  _The Silence of the Lambs_ to me right now?" Chloe asks, chuckling. She yanks her panties off, discarding them onto the floor.

Beca is momentarily struck dumb by the expanse of exposed skin. She decides that Chloe Beale is officially the most attractive human she's ever met.

Chloe moves back up to hover over Beca, kissing her sweetly as her hand traces patterns over Beca's skin—down her neck, over her breasts, on her abdomen. Her touch sets Beca on fire, every nerve in her body on red-alert. Her chest is heaving by the time Chloe fingers finally,  _finally_  dip between her legs.

Beca inhales sharply as Chloe slips her fingers through her folds, eyes darkening when she feels just how wet Beca is. Slowly, she circles Beca's clit, and Beca can't stop herself from grinding against Chloe's hand, searching for more friction.

Beca's already close, and she can feel her inner walls starting to clench down on emptiness. She thinks the past two months have been leading up to this moment, but she still cries out in surprise when Chloe gently slips one finger inside her.

"Fuck," Beca gasps. Her hips are moving entirely of their own accord now, her moans coming out weak and breathy against Chloe's neck. She feels the tightening in the pit of her stomach building rapidly, and she barely has enough time to take a breath before she's coming, calling out Chloe's name.

Carefully, Chloe slows her movements, peppering kisses over Beca's face and neck. "You're so fucking beautiful," she breathes, and Beca's never believed anything more. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Beca says, trying to catch her breath. "Jesus Christ."

"You can just call me Chloe."

Beca rolls her eyes, pushing herself up and easing Chloe onto her back. "A little full of ourselves, are we?"

"I  _did_ just make you come in about a minute and a half, so…" Chloe winks, trailing a finger up Beca's inner thigh.

Beca bats her hand away. "It was not that fast," she denies, flushing.

"It was," Chloe insists, smirking wickedly. "But I just consider it a testament to my skills."

"Shut up," Beca says, ducking her head to bite down gently on Chloe's nipple.

Whatever smart remark Chloe had been about to say gets cut off with a gasp, and Beca smiles to herself. She licks up between Chloe's breasts as she nudges her girlfriend's legs apart, bringing her hand between them.

Beca makes a rather unattractive choking sound when her fingers skid through wetness, feeling oddly proud, knowing that it was her who did that.

Chloe immediately arches up, pushing her hips into Beca's hand. She moans loudly, head tipping back, and Beca silently apologizes to Chloe's neighbors. Lightly, Beca teasingly rubs Chloe's clit.

"Harder," Chloe grunts, tugging Beca's face near her own and biting her lower lip.

Beca chuckles against her mouth, circling more firmly. She's rewarded with a sexy whimper, nails digging into her back.

Cautiously, Beca presses one finger into Chloe, carefully watching her face to make sure she isn't hurting her. Chloe arches again, pushing harder against Beca's hand, and Beca adds another finger, positioning her thumb at Chloe's clit.

"Fuck, Beca," Chloe groans. Her face is flushed and sweaty, hair splayed out like a halo against the pillow as she bites down on her lower lip. The sight stills the breath in Beca's lungs, and she nearly forgets what she's doing until Chloe urges her on with a breathless, "Harder."

Ignoring the burning in her arm, Beca curls her fingers, trying to find the spot that will make Chloe fall apart. Suddenly, Chloe cries out sharply, her muscles starting to contract around Beca's fingers. Beca uses her hips to strengthen her movements. She tries to memorize everything about this moment—the way Chloe screws her eyes shut, hands gripping in the sheets, breasts bouncing with every thrust.

"Bec—" The word barely leaves her mouth before Chloe starts to unravel, back arching so hard that Beca worries it'll be sore tomorrow. Gradually, Beca slows her fingers before pulling out and flopping down next to Chloe. She slings an arm around Chloe's waist, listening to her rapid breathing starting to even out.

"Wow," Chloe says after a couple of minutes.

"Yeah," Beca answers quietly, smoothing a stray lock of red hair away from her girlfriend's eyes. Then a laugh bubbles out of her chest before she can stop it.

"What?" Chloe pokes at Beca's arm.

"When you first came to Georgia and gave us your number, Jesse kept asking me if I was going to 'tap that,'" Beca says, lifting her hand slightly to make air quotes. "And I kept telling him that I wouldn't."

"I've made a liar out of you." Chloe smiles, wrapping her arm around Beca's shoulders.

"That's okay." Beca yawns, lazily tracing her fingertip down Chloe's side, watching as goosebumps rise along her path.

They lie in silence, save for the sound of their breathing, for a long time. Beca lifts her head up just enough to look at Chloe's face; it appears as though she's asleep.

Eyelids drooping with exhaustion, Beca nuzzles against Chloe's skin, trying to commit her scent to memory.

"I love you," Beca whispers, so quietly she's not even sure she's said it.

It's kind of cowardly to say it when no one is listening, but it's rather cathartic. Or, at least, it is until she hears—

"I love you, too."


	10. Chapter 10

Beca wakes up half underneath a very naked Chloe Beale.

It'd be the ideal morning if she weren't flying six hundred miles away in a few hours.

Still, Beca can't help but run her fingers over every inch of exposed skin that she can reach—Chloe's cheeks, her collarbones, between her breasts, down her stomach, over her hipbones. She tries to commit every inch to memory, because she doesn't know when she'll have her hands on Chloe again.

The thought makes her nauseous.

Chloe murmurs something incoherent, stirring a little and slowly blinking her eyes open. "Good morning," she rasps, nuzzling her nose in the side of Beca's breast. (It's kind of distracting.)

"Hi," Beca says softly. She presses her lips to the top of Chloe's head, inhaling the flowery scent of her shampoo.

"You're leaving today," Chloe states quietly.

"I'm leaving today," Beca echoes, hating the way the words ring in her ears.

"I love you," Chloe whispers. Beca inhales sharply, almost embarrassed at the way the words make her stomach flutter. Chloe lifts her head slightly to make eye contact with Beca. Her eyes are wide, almost shy. "Say it back?"

"I love you." Beca strokes Chloe's hair, and she feels Chloe's deep exhale against her skin. "We should probably talk about this."  _This_ , as in,  _I love you and I'm leaving soon_. As in,  _I've barely been able to hold onto relationships with people who lived five minutes away._ As in,  _how am I going to survive this?_

Chloe doesn't answer, instead sneaking a hand slowly up Beca's side.

"Chloe," Beca warns. She can practically  _feel_ Chloe's smirk as her girlfriend teasingly strokes a thumb across her nipple.

"Chloe, we need to talk about this," Beca says, finding it difficult to sound stern when her voice is shaking. Chloe grins wickedly at her, and Beca knows resistance is futile. "Chlo—"

Her final protest is cut off when Chloe deftly slips her fingers between Beca's legs.

* * *

They don't talk about it.

At least, not until Beca's bags are all packed and they're about to leave for the airport.

Beca's emotions decide that this is the perfect time to attack.

Maybe it's the finality of it—Beca's duffel bag and carry-on stacked by the door, unaccompanied by any of Chloe's bags—that causes Beca to break down; she starts to hyperventilate and suddenly can't stop.

"Beca?" Chloe asks concernedly, coming out of the kitchen. She sees Beca standing uselessly in the hallway, hands shaking, and rushes over. "Beca,  _breathe_." She wraps Beca in her arms, and it triggers the memory of that night when Beca had the nightmare.

That makes Beca think of her bed, cold and empty without Chloe to fill it. She's assaulted with images of her life without Chloe—takeout containers piling in the trash, silent evenings in front of the television, quiet rides to work.

It takes Beca a few minutes to realize that Chloe is crying, too. (It's incredibly unfair how attractively she cries, in juxtaposition to Beca, who always looks like she's been hit by a bus.) Beca tries to force herself to regain her composure, gently wiping her thumbs under Chloe's eyes.

"Dammit, Mitchell," Chloe says with a watery laugh. "I promised myself I wasn't going to cry."

"Better here than in public," Beca mumbles, tucking her head in the crook of Chloe's neck. She just breathes in Chloe's scent for a minute, trying to calm herself. "I'm scared," she confesses in a hushed voice.

"Of what?"

"That this won't work," Beca admits.

"Hey." Chloe gently pushes Beca off and cups her chin, forcing eye contact. "We will be fine," she says. "I'll come visit you as soon as I can."

"Okay," Beca agrees, although she knows that with Chloe's busy schedule, that could be a long time coming.

"Plus," Chloe says, wiping away Beca's smudged eyeliner with her pinky, "there's always Skype." She winks, and Beca can't help but roll her eyes.

" _No_ ," she tells Chloe emphatically, "I'm not having cyber-sex with you. That's for creepy guys whose only contact with girls is through the Internet."

Chloe gasps mock-dramatically. "I was only suggesting that we talk. Who knew you had such a dirty mind?"

"Don't even pretend like that's not what you were implying." Beca swats at Chloe's arm, bending down to shoulder her bag. Chloe uses this opportunity to smack Beca's ass, and Beca pitches forward, catching herself just before falling flat on her face with a yelp.

"Is this how you say goodbye to all of your guests? Or do you only pick on me?"

Chloe leans in close, her breath hot against Beca's ear. "Only the ones I make come in under two minutes."

Beca pulls back, openmouthed.  _Low blow._  "You do  _not_ get to use that against me. Ever."

"I won't do it in public," Chloe promises, grabbing Beca's duffel and turning to saunter out the door.

"What? No, we're not negotiating this," Beca calls after her, but Chloe just smirks at her as she turns her key in the lock.

"Why do I like you again?" Beca mutters as she brushes past her girlfriend.

"Because I made you—"

" _Don't_."

* * *

All teasing aside, the ride to the airport is quiet. Chloe holds Beca's hand, tracing circles and random patterns with her thumb as she navigates the roads one-handed. (Apparently, defensive driving is part of new agent training.)

When they arrive, Chloe cuts the engine and they sit in silence for several moments.

"We should go," Chloe says, and Beca says, "Yeah," but neither girl moves to get out of the car.

"Would it make this harder if I walk you to security?" Chloe asks.

Beca thinks for a moment. "Yes, but you should do it anyway." Chloe looks at her, and Beca just says, "Chivalry," with a shrug.

When it comes time for them to actually part, Beca regrets not just tucking and rolling out of the car—because she wants to kiss Chloe and then cry, and Beca  _hates_ both PDA and crying in public.

They stare at each other for a few moments before Chloe wraps Beca in a fierce hug.

"Let me know you got home safe?" Chloe asks into Beca's hair.

"I will." Beca grips the fabric of Chloe's shirt in her fists.

"I love you," Chloe whispers before pulling back.

Beca forces herself to relax her grip. "Love you, too."

"Okay," Chloe says, although it seems like she's saying it more to herself than to Beca. "Have a safe flight." She presses her lips to Beca's, brief and hard.

Beca nods and grabs her bags, making her legs move to walk to security. She keeps swiveling her head around to look back at Chloe until it's her turn to move through the medal detector.

And then she's gone.

* * *

When the plane takes off, Beca holds tightly to the armrests, trying to picture Chloe in her head, imagining her voice reminding Beca to  _breathe_.

She briefly considers asking the guy next to her if she can hold his hand, before she remembers that's not something that normal people do.

Whatever—she's under duress.

* * *

Beca's apartment is dark and quiet when she finally arrives home.

She texts Chloe, telling her she didn't die on the plane, and dumps her bags on the floor of her bedroom. She sheds her clothing, dropping them next to her bags, and shrugs on a t-shirt and shorts before flopping down onto her bed.

Her sheets still smell like Chloe's perfume; it makes Beca's chest squeeze painfully. Still, she draws the blanket up to her nose, inhaling deeply. The bed feels uncomfortably large without Chloe next to her.

She's not sure how long she stares at the ceiling before she finally falls asleep.

* * *

Beca skips breakfast the next morning, opting for swinging through the drive-thru for coffee on her way to work.

"Hey, look who's back!" Jesse cheers when she walks in, clapping his hands with a dopey smile on his face.

"I was only gone for a couple of days," Beca mutters, dropping her stuff on her desk and sitting down.

"How was Quantico?" Jesse asks, twirling a pen between his fingers.

"Elaborate," Beca says, opening her laptop. "It's, like, the law enforcement central of the universe. They even have a fake town set up for simulated situations."

"No," Jesse says, leaning forward and lowering his voice, "I meant  _how was Quantico_?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

"Dude, no." Beca crumples an unimportant piece of paper and throws it at Jesse, but he just bats it away. "That is none of your business."

"So you two  _did_ do it?"

Beca just ignores him, but it's hard to work when she can  _feel_ his smirk.

"Okay," she concedes, sighing. "She took me out on a date and it was perfect." Beca blushes when Jesse  _awws_ , adding, "And that's all I'm going to tell you."

"Is she coming back?" Jesse asks.

"I don't know," Beca answers shortly, not wanting to have this conversation.

"How are you holding up?" Jesse's tone grows concerned. "Do you want to, like, talk?"

"Nope." Beca keeps her eyes glued to her laptop. She decides to change the subject. "Did I miss anything good while I was gone?"

"Nah," Jesse says, then pauses. "Actually, there was a lady a couple of days ago who shot her husband in the back. Class case of domestic abuse, though."

"Do you think she's gonna walk?" Beca asks, and Jesse just shrugs.

The rest of the day is quiet, allowing Beca to lose herself in her own thoughts. She forces herself to methodically read through the tips that she'd ignored over the past few days, writing down any information that seems pertinent, making the occasional phone call.

She wanders aimlessly through the grocery store after work, buying mostly instant meals and pasta, since she'll be cooking for herself now. Chloe never did get around to teaching her to cook. (Well, she did try once—but as soon as she turned her back, Beca nearly burned the apartment down.)

Beca channel surfs while she eats a TV dinner, checking her phone every few minutes to see if she had somehow missed a call from Chloe. Her girlfriend had promised she'd call if she wasn't swamped with work, but having just returned to her job, she had a lot of catching up to do. Beca understands, but it's still difficult not to hear Chloe's voice every day.

No call comes, but Beca falls asleep rereading the  _Good night! I love you!_ text that comes in later that night.

* * *

Beca never really used to get lonely.

Of course, she did on occasion—everyone does. But she never  _craved_ someone like she does now.

She comes up with a myriad of ways to distract herself—work helps a lot, and Beca volunteers to take a late shift or go along on interviews or jailhouse visits. She tries to teach herself to cook from WikiHow and instructional YouTube videos. (She only has about a forty percent success rate, but she's managed not to set the building on fire.)

Beca even tries running. It lasts about twenty painful minutes, but she  _tries_.

Chloe Skypes her as often as possible, and they sometimes watch bad reality television together, or have dinner with their laptops propped in front of them. It's almost enough. But sometimes she still awakens in the middle of the night with a start and reaches out for the person who isn't there.

Beca can't help but feel hollow at times; the weight going from spending nearly every moment of every day with one person to being totally alone occasionally threatens to crush her.

Jesse is an unexpected savior. He drags her out after work, even if it's just to get pizza. He even sleeps over once or twice—not in Beca's bed, of course, and it's usually an accident while watching a late-night movie.

It helps. It's almost enough.

* * *

The call comes on a Wednesday afternoon.

It interrupts her lunch; Beca answers her phone with a, "Yeah?" that's mumbled around a sandwich—which she promptly drops back onto her desk.

Because there's another victim.

She can't help but feel a twinge of excitement as she and Jesse clamber into her car, a touch of hope.  
Maybe Chloe will come back.

She's an awful person, she knows. Someone is  _dead_ , and all Beca can think about is her girlfriend. She bites her lip to keep from smiling, but Jesse reads her easily.

"You thinking about Chloe?" he asks as Beca turns onto a residential street.

"Shh," Beca says, swatting at the air in his general direction. "Don't jinx it."

Jesse shakes his head, chuckling a little.

The scene is a familiar one—ambulance in the driveway, flanked on either side by squad cars, variously uniformed people standing around with their arms crossed—but Beca quickly wipes the smile off of her face. She might be excited about the possibility of being reunited with her girlfriend, but that doesn't mean she's lost sight of why she's here.

"Fill me in, Benji," Beca says, striding towards him with Jesse on her heels.

It's sad and alarming how they've fallen into a routine.

"Robin Turner, age 68," Benji says. "She was found by her son when he came to drop his kids off."

"Did the kids…?" Jesse asks, trailing off.

"No, no," Benji says quickly. "They were thankfully in the other room when he found her."

"Thank God." Jesse sighs.

"Do you know if she has a husband?" Beca scans the faces of the people starting to gather at the edge of the yard.

Benji nods. "Her son said that he is out fishing with the grandson. The son was coming to drop the granddaughters off for some 'girl time.'" Benji holds his fingers up in air quotes.

"So much for that," Jesse mutters, and Beca elbows him in the ribs. "Hey!"

"She's been dead for a few hours, the paramedics said." Benji gestures to the house. "She's, uh, in the master bedroom."

"Shall we head in?" Beca asks, pulling out the shoe coverings that she carries with her everywhere now.

The house is perfectly still despite the flurry of activity outside. Unlike the Jacobsons' the inside is neat and orderly, save for a television remote on the floor.

Beca heads upstairs, passing framed portraits of various children on the way. Only one of the bedroom doors is all the way open, so she tries that one first.

Yep, definitely the right one.

Robin's body—like almost all of the others—is nude and spread out on the bed. Her eyes, wide and bloodshot, stare unblinking at the ceiling. Beca wonders what the last image Robin saw was; she shivers.

A pair of pantyhose is knotted around Robin's neck like an odd kind of necklace. Her hair—dyed a chestnut color but grey at the roots—is spread around her face, splotched red and blue, on the pillow. Her swollen tongue pokes out of her slightly open mouth.

Upon closer look, a couple of Robin's fingernails are broken, her fingers clawed and stiff. Her other hand is still twisted in the sheet, like she'd been grappling for something to hold onto in her final moments. In fact, half of the fitted bottom sheet has come undone, bunching in the middle of the bed.

There's a rumpled pile of clothing near the door, almost half under the dresser. Two of the drawers are open, clothes spilling out. The mess was probably made when the killer was searching for his murder weapon. A drawer on the nightstand is ajar as well, but when Beca peeks in, it just has ChapStick, pill bottles, and various odds and ends inside—nothing of real value.

Beca steps back to allow Jesse to examine the body and leaves the room to poke around the rest of the upstairs. She nudges open the doors with her toe, finding a bathroom, a small closet, and two other bedrooms—both of which look like they haven't been used in years and smell distinctly of mothballs. The entire scene is incredibly tidy; Beca wonders if perhaps something spooked the killer and he fled, cutting short any rummaging.

Or maybe he had already gotten everything he wanted.

She meets Jesse in the hallway as he's coming out of the bedroom. "Anything else up here?" he asks, and Beca shakes her head.

"The place is spotless," she says as they descend the stairs. They walk around the downstairs, but nothing seems out of the ordinary—save for a half-eaten orange on a plate on the kitchen counter and a purse, which sits in the middle of the kitchen table.

"How do you think he got in?" Jesse wonders.

Beca shrugs. "Gun, maybe?"

"I'd think he'd be a little gun-shy after the last time." Jesse grins, holding up his hand for a high five.  
Beca rolls her eyes and heads to the front door. "I'm not rewarding you for making a bad pun." She exits the house, and— _whoa._

If the property was crowded before, now it's an absolute circus—people crowd around the outside of the yellow crime scene tape, trying to get as close as they can, and Beca can see at least three news vans.  _Wonderful_.

Beca spots Benji on the driveway and heads over to him. "Hey, have you been able to contact the husband?" she asks him.

Benji shakes his head. "Not yet. I've been busy with"—he gestures over the yard—"this."

"We'll get on it," Beca promises. "Anything else we should know?"

"I'm working on figuring out which neighbors have information and which ones just want to feel important," Benji says with a light laugh, and Beca can certainly sympathize.

She and Jesse have to shove their way through a swarm of people just to reach her car. Beca unlocks it quickly, sliding in and revving the engine before anyone from the press can come and try to stick a microphone in her face.

"Jesus Christ," she mutters, honking several times so the people in front of the car will move. "I'm not afraid to hit you!" she shouts at the ones who stay put, although they probably don't hear her with the windows up. Another honk finally scatters the rest of the people, and Beca begins driving back to the station.

She makes a mental list of things she has to do as she drives—get ahold of Mr. Turner, interview potential witnesses, review the outpouring of tips that are certain to come through.  _Great._

Beca's barely sat down in front of her laptop when Aubrey comes into the office.

"Hey, Lieu," Jesse greets, a potato chip halfway to his mouth.

"Just checking in," Aubrey explains. "I wasn't able to get over there myself."

"68-year-old female, strangled with a pair of pantyhose," Beca tells her. "Husband was out fishing with one of the grandkids. Her son found her when he came to drop off the other kids. It looks like it's our guy, but I can't say for sure."

"Okay." Aubrey nods.

"I'm about to try and get ahold of the husband," Beca says, drumming her fingers on the desk. "Benji is still at the scene picking through the spectators." She rolls her eyes a little.

"Well, keep me posted," Aubrey says, turning to leave. She looks back at Beca, hand resting on the threshold, adding, "Oh, and I contacted Agent Beale." And then she leaves.

Beca stares after her, mouth slightly open. Her stomach dips, and she quickly bites her lip to stifle the unattractive squeal that almost came out of her mouth.

She tries to tell herself that this doesn't  _necessarily_ mean that Chloe's coming back, but she can't help but hope.

And Jesse doesn't help.

"Beca and Chloe, sitting in a tree," he croons. "K-I-S-S-I—hey!" The pen Beca threw bounces off his forehead.

"You are actually twelve years old," Beca scolds, but she can't help the smile that tugs at her lips.

Chloe might come back.

* * *

Chloe isn't answering her phone. Or responding to Beca's text messages with anything more than a "busy" or a "not a good time right now." (Beca still gets her good-night text that evening, but it's unusually short.)

Chloe is probably just swamped with work, but it's a  _really_ inconvenient time for her to be right now.

Beca's debating whether calling Chloe relentlessly until she picks up the phone would be crossing the line when there's a knock at her apartment door. Confused, Beca tries to remember if she'd invited Jesse over or maybe ordered takeout and then forgotten about it.

Remembering the nightmare she'd had a month and a half ago, Beca cautiously opens the door.

And then almost falls over.

Because Chloe is standing on the other side, wearing a wide grin.

"What?" Beca says breathlessly as Chloe launches herself into her arms. "How did you—who—what?" (She's not the most articulate person when she's flustered.)

She doesn't even give Chloe a chance to answer before Beca tugs her into the apartment, slamming the door and pinning Chloe up against it, fusing their mouths together.

"Aubrey called me," Chloe says between kisses, pausing to moan a little when Beca sucks on her pulse point. "She did a very good job of convincing my supervisor that you guys needed me."

Beca makes a mental note to thank Aubrey later. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"I wanted to surprise you," Chloe says, threading her fingers through Beca's hair and bringing her back up to her mouth, sinking her teeth into Beca's bottom lip. Beca hisses at the sharpness, but Chloe quickly smooths her tongue over it. "I missed you so much."

Beca pulls back to look at Chloe, eyes hooded and heart pounding. "How much?"

Chloe shoves Beca back gently, urging her towards the bedroom. "I'll show you," she purrs.

* * *

Beca wakes several times that night, worried that it had all been a dream.

But every time, Chloe is curled around her in the bed, her bare chest rising and falling steadily, smiling softly even in her sleep.

And every time, Beca snuggles in closer, letting Chloe's breathing lull her back to sleep.

Chloe is back.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That wasn't so painful, was it?


	11. Chapter 11

When Beca awakens the next morning, she rolls over, blindly reaching her arms out for Chloe—but all she finds is cold emptiness.

She starts to panic, sitting up and whipping off the covers before she notices that her apartment smells like French toast.

Damn Chloe and her breakfast enthusiasm.

"Good morning," Chloe chirps brightly as Beca shuffles into the kitchen. She leans in to peck Chloe's lips.

There's already a mug of coffee at Beca's spot at the table. "God bless you," Beca groans, wrapping her hands around it.

"There isn't a lot of food in here," Chloe says, flipping a piece of toast in the pan. She points the spatula in Beca's direction. "Have you been eating?"

Beca chuckles and rolls her eyes. "No, Chloe," she drawls, "I haven't eaten the entire time you've been gone."

Chloe chucks a piece of bread at her.

"Hey!" Beca complains, grabbing the bread from where it had landed on the table and shoving it in her mouth. "That's no way to treat your very generous hostess  _and_ girlfriend. Also," she says, holding up a finger, "technically, you're here uninvited, so I'm being extra nice."

Chloe raises her eyebrow in challenge. "I can leave," she offers, smirking when Beca's eyes widen. "That's what I thought."

"Don't even joke about that," Beca mutters.

Chloe's expression softens, and she puts the spatula down, moving behind Beca to wrap her in a hug. "I'm right here," she says, punctuating her words with a kiss to Beca's cheek.

"I know," Beca says quietly.

Chloe squeezes her tight for a moment before letting go, heading back to the stove to scoop the French toast onto two plates. "So tell me about this latest homicide," she says, setting a plate in front of each of them.

 _Casual breakfast conversation_. "White female, age sixty-eight. Strangled in her bedroom with a pair of pantyhose," Beca recounts around a bite of her breakfast. "Husband was out for the day. She was probably killed sometime in the morning."

"And how was the scene?" Chloe asks. "Anything missing?"

"Very neat. It looked like he rummaged through a drawer or two, but otherwise it didn't look like he went through anything," Beca says as she dumps more syrup onto her food. "The only thing missing was her driver's license, which her husband said should have been in her purse."

Chloe ponders this for a moment. "About how far away was the scene from the station? And in which direction? Just so I can get an idea."

Beca thinks for a minute. She's never been great with maps. "Like ten minutes northwest?"

Chloe nods. "Okay. Did you interview anyone yet?"

"I spoke to her husband, but he didn't really have any useful information. You can listen to the tape," Beca offers, scooping the last bite into her mouth. "Half the neighbors don't know anything and the other half just want their fifteen minutes of fame."

"I'll review the files before our meeting today." Chloe stands, gathering the dishes.

"Wait, what meeting?" Beca asks, confused.

"Aubrey wants to meet with you, me, and Jesse today," Chloe says, loading the plates into the dishwasher. "Did she not tell you?"

Beca huffs, annoyed. "No one tells me anything."

Chloe just laughs and kisses Beca's forehead as she walks passed, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her in close.

Beca lets out an embarrassingly girly squeal of surprise. "I have to go shower," she protests.

"Do we have time for me to join you?" Chloe purrs, breath ghosting in Beca's ear.

"I mean," Beca gasps out, hands clenching in Chloe's shirt, "Aubrey didn't tell me about the meeting, so we can blame me if we're late." Chloe immediately whips her shirt over her head.

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

They're not late, for the record. In fact, they're two whole minutes early.

"Heyyyyy, Chloe!" Jesse cheers when they walk into Aubrey's office.

"Hi!" Chloe greets, letting go of Beca's hand to pull him into a hug.

"It's been so boring here without you," he says when they part.

"Hey!" Beca waves a hand, getting his attention. "You're been hanging out with me."

"Exactly." Jesse winks—oh God, he's spent too much time with Chloe. Then, privately, he whispers in Beca's ear, "She smells like your shampoo."

"Why do you know what my shampoo smells like?" Beca hisses back, but they're cut off when Aubrey strolls through the door.

"Welcome back, Agent Beale," Aubrey says, gesturing for them to sit across from her.

"Thanks," Chloe says with a pleasant smile, having at this point given up on trying to get Aubrey to call her by her first name.

"You've heard that there's been another victim?" Aubrey folds her hands demurely.  _Well, duh,_  Beca thinks, but Chloe just nods. "We're under increasing pressure from the public and the press to really take action."  
"Aren't we already doing everything we can?" Jesse asks, looking half confused and half offended.

"That's what I'm asking," Aubrey says evenly, gaze still on Chloe.

"Has the UNSUB made any more contact with victims, or the press, or the department?" Chloe taps her fingers absently against Beca's knee. (It's distracting.)

"No," Aubrey answers.

Chloe thinks for a moment. "We could try and implement what we call proactive techniques to entice the UNSUB to make contact."

"Proactive techniques?" Beca asks, eyebrows furrowing.

"Using police efforts and the media to try and lure the UNSUB into a trap," Chloe explains. "For example, you could set up a series to community meetings to 'discuss'"—she holds her fingers up in air quotes—"the crimes, in the hopes that the UNSUB would show up at one or more of them. These guys usually can't resist talking about their crimes."

"I see," Beca says, nodding.

"Or you could announce to the press that there had been witnesses who saw the UNSUB in the vicinity of one of the crime scenes," Chloe continues. "It might make the UNSUB come forward to explain why me might have been innocently seen in the vicinity."

"So what do we do?" Jesse asks.

"There's a technique we use called the 'super-cop,'" Chloe says. "In which the intended goal is to make the UNSUB identify with a single officer or detective instead of an entire police force. That person would stand up at press conferences and talk directly to the UNSUB, eventually building up such a rapport with the UNSUB that he allows himself to take chances and risks he couldn't take otherwise."

"What would this entail, exactly?" Aubrey leans back in her chair and steeples her fingers.

"Well, it's obvious that part of the UNSUB's motive is a desire to thumb his nose at police. He wants everyone to know that he's smarter than us; that's clear in his letters." Chloe pauses to think. "At the same time, his detailed descriptions of his crime scenes gives me the feeling that he's a wannabe cop—probably someone who would have given anything to be in law enforcement. In fact, I wonder if he'd ever applied for a job with police and been turned away. Or maybe he'd wanted to apply, but didn't want to run the risk of giving the cops his fingerprints, if they didn't already have them. The super-cop would be the face that the UNSUB would picture when he thinks of the police. If we can begin to control the mental picture he maintains of the police, we might just have a chance of controlling him."

Aubrey nods, processing. "And how would this work?"

"The trick is to locate someone that the UNSUB can identify with and feel comfortable opening up to. It has to be someone who can harness the UNSUB's sense of his own importance, power, and intelligence that covers up his deep-seated feelings of inferiority and self-hatred. We have to make him feel important by saying stuff like"—Chloe deepens her voice (in an impression of whom, exactly, Beca isn't sure)—"'If it takes me my whole career or even my lifetime, I will solve this case.'" She speaks again in her normal voice, "Like that. We should say that this guy is probably mentally ill or something; these guys are so narcissistic that he'll probably make contact to correct you and say that he's not crazy."

"So we need a press conference?" Aubrey is already reaching for the phone.

"Yes," Chloe says, "but first we need to pick someone and write them a script."

"And who would that be?"

Chloe turns to look at Beca, whose eyes widen in alarm. "Oh, no. I'm not playing best friends with a serial killer."

"Come on, Bec," Chloe pleads. "You're the lead investigator on the case."

"Plus you two are, like, conjoined twins, so Chloe can coach you," Jesse adds. Beca shoots him a glare.

"It's decided, then." Aubrey claps her hands together. "Detective Mitchell, you're our super-cop."

"I didn't agree to that," Beca grumbles. "I'm terrible at talking in front of cameras."

"I'll write down exactly what you're going to say," Chloe promises, squeezing Beca's knee.

Beca tips her head back and groans. "Fine."

"Excellent," Aubrey says, reaching for the phone once more. "I'll alert the press. You'll have a few hours to work out the script."

"Perfect," Chloe says, and she, Beca, and Jesse stand to leave.

"You  _so_ owe me for this," Beca hisses as they walk down the hall.

"Count on it." Chloe winks; Jesse laughs and holds his hand up for a high five, which Chloe smacks enthusiastically.

"You two are the worst," Beca huffs.

"But you love us anyway," Chloe sings, wrapping Beca into a hug from behind.

"Group hug!" Jesse throws his arms around them both.

Beca squirms, trying to escape. "This is unprofessional behavior!"

"Just say that you love us," Chloe says, her breath tickling Beca's cheek.

"Fine, whatever."

Chloe loosens her grip, and Beca wriggles free, darting down the hall and into her office.

She hates them. She really does.

* * *

There are cameras.

Like, a  _lot_ of cameras.

(How does Aubrey get so many people on such short notice?)

"I can't do this," Beca whispers to Chloe, the script they'd drafted clutched tightly in her sweaty hands. Her heart pounds in her chest, and she's starting to feel a little nauseous.

"You can," Chloe says, rubbing soothing circles on Beca's back. "Just read the script, look into the cameras a few times, and you're done."

"What if I forget how to read?"

Chloe rolls her eyes. "You won't."

"Are you su—"

"Beca." Aubrey is waving Beca over, gesturing to the podium set up at the front of the room, just like the last press conference.

"Showtime," Chloe says, squeezing Beca's arm before nudging her forward.

Beca walks to the podium on shaky legs, setting her papers down and looking up. A million cameras and microphones are pointed directly at her, watching her every move. She clears her throat and glances at Chloe, who gives her a thumbs-up.

"Good afternoon," Beca says, trying to block everything out but the words in front of her. "Five days ago, Robin Turner was discovered dead in her home by her son in the early afternoon. Her murder remains unsolved." She looks up into the cameras for a moment, and sees that Chloe has moved behind them to be in Beca's line of sight. Beca smiles a little to herself and continues. "We believe that this homicide could be linked to the other unsolved homicides that have been occurring in Barden in the last couple of years. This is the most challenging case I have ever worked on," Beca reads, trying not to roll her eyes, "and the individual would be very interesting to talk with. This man is obviously mentally ill and needs psychiatric help. It is in everyone's best interest to get him off the street."

"We are working closely with the FBI"—she looks back at Chloe, who grins—"the sheriff's office, and the district attorney's office on this investigation. This case is a top priority in the Barden Police Department, and we will be working this as a strong, unsolved case, and exploring all possible leads. Again, our tip line phone number is 1-800-374-3847. Thank you." With one final glance to the cameras, Beca gathers her papers and walks back to the corner of the room where Jesse, Aubrey, and Chloe are waiting.

"You did great," Chloe says, squeezing Beca's arm. "That was perfect."

"Nice work, Mitchell," Aubrey says with a nod.

Jesse high-fives Beca with a, "You killed it."

"I just stood up there and read from a piece of paper," Beca says, but in truth she's pretty proud of herself, if only for not completely forgetting how to speak.

"But you did it really well," Chloe insists. She pulls on Beca's arm as they're leaving the room, letting Jesse and Aubrey get a few feet in front of them. "I'll reward you for it later," she whispers in Beca's ear.

Beca  _really_ hopes that none of the cameras captured her flushing bright red and stumbling over her own feet.

* * *

Chloe insists on watching the replay of the press conference on the evening news as they eat Chinese food straight out of the containers. (It's a little difficult to manage, because Chloe is half in Beca's lap.)

"Why do we have to watch this?" Beca grumbles, poking at the lo mein with her chopsticks. She grimaces at how pale and awkward she looks on the screen, noticing that she tucks her hair behind her ear after every other sentence. "I sound so annoying."

"You look adorable," Chloe says, planting a kiss on Beca's cheek. "Like a crime-fighting puppy."

Beca rolls her eyes. "Please don't ever call me that."

Chloe's response is just to snag one of the shrimps out of Beca's container.

Then a thought strikes Beca. "This dude's not gonna, like, come after me or anything, right?" she asks nervously.

"Aw, don't worry," Chloe coos. "I'll protect you."

"Chloe!" Beca flicks a piece of onion at her. "I'm serious."

"Sorry." Chloe picks the onion off of her shirt and pops it in her mouth. "I very highly doubt it. He kills because he gets off on that feeling of being in total control. You'd be too high-risk a target for him. Plus"—she shrugs—"we both have guns."

"Okay," Beca says, feeling a little better and digging back into her food. After a moment, she realizes Chloe is staring at her. "What?" she asks suspiciously.

"You're really sexy when you eat noodles," Chloe says simply, shrugging one shoulder.

Beca shakes her head, chuckling. "You're insatiable."

"Can you blame me?" Chloe asks, her voice low. It makes Beca swallow hard. "I can't help but imagine you sucking—"

"Whoa, okay," Beca interrupts, flushing. "Don't even finish that sentence." Now she has a lot of dirty images in her head that  _really_  don't bode well with trying to civilly eat dinner.

Chloe  _hmphs_  and picks up the television remote. "Fine." She slips through the channels before landing on another local news station that's playing the press conference, and her eyes light up.

"Chloe, no," Beca says, reaching for the remote. "No more!"

Chloe holds it out of Beca's reach. "I want to watch it again."

Beca puts the container onto the coffee table. "Chloe," she repeats, hoping she looks serious, "give me the remote."

Chloe blinks innocently, a trace of a smirk on her lips. "Make me," she says, her voice almost a whisper. It sends a shiver down Beca's spine, but she fights not to show how Chloe affects her nervous system.

Carefully, Beca plucks the container of chicken out of Chloe's hand and puts it next her hers on the table. Chloe watches her, wetting her lips with her tongue.

"Are you going to give me the remote?" Beca asks, nudging Chloe with her knee until she's seated across her girlfriend, straddling her.

Chloe practically grins when she answers, "No."

"Wrong answer," Beca growls, loving the way Chloe's breath hitches as she leans in to kiss her. Beca takes Chloe's bottom lip between her own, sucking on it before biting down gently. Chloe's hands tighten in the back of her shirt as Beca moves to her top lip, running her tongue along it but pulling back slightly when Chloe's lips part.

Chloe lets out a frustrated whine, and Beca understands why Chloe likes teasing her so much. She moves along Chloe's jawline, nipping at the skin before she moves to suck on Chloe's pulse point.

She feels Chloe's hands sneaking under her shirt, moving up over her back and around to her stomach, nails raking over her skin, the remote long forgotten. Beca gasps, forgetting what she's doing for a moment, instinctually grinding down in Chloe's lap. Chloe's got Beca's shirt up and over her head before Beca grabs her hands, moving them to a more respectable place on her hips.

Beca makes quick work of Chloe shirt, dumping it onto the floor and edging her fingers along the underside of Chloe's bra, biting at her collarbone.

"Beca," Chloe says breathlessly.

"What?" Beca looks up for a moment, her stomach flipping at Chloe's mussed hair and swollen lips.

"Take it off," Chloe says, although it comes out more pleading than demanding. And then, almost as an afterthought, "Please."

Beca doesn't have to be asked twice. She reaches around and unhooks Chloe's bra, dropping it on top of the shirt on the floor. Beca cups Chloe's breasts, circling her nipples with her thumbs until they harden; she feels Chloe's nails dig into the skin above her hips as Chloe throws her head back in pleasure.

Beca dips her head to try and take one of Chloe's nipples between her teeth, scooting back slightly in an attempt to remedy the awkward angle. She nearly falls backwards off of the couch, but Chloe grabs her just in time. (Beca appreciates the way Chloe bites her lip to keep from laughing.)

"This'll be easier," Beca says, half to herself. She slides off of Chloe's lap and kneels on the floor, tugging Chloe's hips forward until her feet plant on the floor so she can reach her chest. She sucks Chloe's nipple into her mouth, flicking her tongue over it. Chloe's hands twist painfully in Beca's hair, but Beca ignores it, moving to the other nipple.

Chloe's breath is coming in short pants, and she's groaning and squirming on the couch, trying to move Beca's head lower. Beca smirks against her skin, tugging Chloe's nipple with her teeth as her hands slide up Chloe's legs.

"Fuck," Chloe breathes, picking her head up when she feels Beca pop open the button on her pants. She lifts her hips to allow Beca to pull them down, trying to speed up the process by shoving at them herself.

Beca grabs Chloe's hands, raising an eyebrow. Chloe huffs but complies, placing her hands to support her weight as she leans back.

It's thrilling to be the one calling the shots, and the desperate gasps and breathy moans coming out of Chloe's mouth are addictive.

Even better is the dark patch she's met with on Chloe's underwear.

Suddenly, Beca feels overwhelmingly warm, and she knows there's probably a blush creeping up her chest. It's almost annoying the power Chloe has over her senses and reactions. Her jeans feel too tight, and she kicks those off as Chloe watches.

Beca gets back on her knees and hooks her fingers under the elastic of Chloe's panties and pulls them down, much more quickly than she did Chloe's pants. (She's starting to get a little impatient with her own game.)

Chloe hisses out something that sounds like, " _Finally_ ," but Beca ignores her, nudging Chloe's legs apart.

Beca drags her fingers through the wetness between Chloe's legs, closing her eyes for a moment and relishing in the feeling. Immediately, Chloe cries out, bucking her hips. Beca hooks one arm around her lower back in an attempt to keep her still.

She glances back up at Chloe—eyes closed, lips parted, chest heaving, her knuckles gripping the edge of the couch so tightly her knuckles are white—before peppering kisses along her inner thighs. She feels the muscles in Chloe's legs clench as she bites at the skin just to the side of where Chloe wants her.

"Bec," Chloe whimpers, "please."

Her voice cuts straight through Beca, making her clench her thighs together. Taking pity on her girlfriend, Beca runs her tongue up Chloe's center once, then focusing her tongue on her clit, tracing circles.

Chloe moans loudly and laces her fingers into Beca's hair, her hips rocking slightly against Beca's arm. Beca really wishes she could watch Chloe's face, but listening is almost as good.

Gently, Beca slips a finger inside of Chloe, twisting and curling it until Chloe chokes out, "More." Beca adds another finger, feeling Chloe's muscles constrict around her, tight and hot, adding more pressure with her tongue.

"Oh, my God," Chloe grits out. "Don't stop."

Beca rolls her eyes to herself.  _As if I would ever_. She hooks her fingers, searching for the spot that'll make Chloe come unraveled.

A high-pitched " _Shit!_ " tells Beca she's found it. Chloe curls forward as she comes, practically resting her head on top of Beca's as she comes down from her high.

Beca pulls her fingers out once Chloe relaxes, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and her fingers on a napkin she grabs from the coffee table.

Chloe flops back against the couch, breathing hard. Beca looks up at her, feeling almost shy despite what she'd just done.

"I love you," Chloe says breathlessly.

"Love you, too," Beca says, climbing onto the couch next to Chloe.

Instantly, she's knocked onto her back, head against the cushions. Chloe hovers over her with a predatory smirk that makes Beca's heart pound.

"I love you," Chloe repeats, reaching around to unhook Beca's bra, "but I'd love you even more if you were naked."

Beca finds that she agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about proactive techniques & Beca's spiel are both straight out of Inside the Mind of BTK.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. Firstly, thanks for the comments and such. Those are really cool to see. Secondly, these next couple of chapters aren't going to be the most realistic or accurate things ever written. I know this, and it pains me, but true-to-life writing (although it's all based on real-life events) would make for a pretty boring fic. It's just this chapter and the next that are particularly bad. (If you're, like, dying to know about the inaccuracies—which you probably aren't—I can clear them up for you.) Anyway. Here's the chapter.

It doesn't take long for a letter from a Bill Smith to arrive at the station, addressed to one Detective Becca Mitchell.

"Dude can't even spell my name right," Beca grumbles as they watch a crime scene tech carefully open the envelope and slide it and the letter and another piece of paper into separate plastic evidence bags. Chloe just rolls her eyes, placing a hand on the small of Beca's back.

"Alright," the tech says, handing the bagged letter to Beca, "read away. I'll take it to the lab when you're done."

"Great, thanks," Chloe says, moving to perch on the edge of Beca's desk to look along with her.

"Whoa," Beca mutters, looking at one of the papers. It's a black-and-white photocopy of Robin Turner's driver's license. "Guess we know this is legit."

"You said it was missing from the scene, right?" Chloe takes the paper and looks at it more closely as Beca nods.

The other paper—the letter—is typed and widely spaced, taking up about half a page. A crude, stick figure-ish drawing covers the bottom half, depicting a girl—a child, Beca thinks, judging by the side—hanging by a noose around her neck from a horizontal line above her. Her arms disappear behind her torso, and there's a few circles drawn around her legs. Beca guesses they're supposed to be rope or cord.

"We got ourselves a Picasso," Beca mutters, holding the letter slightly in front of her so Chloe can see as well.

_Hello Detective Mitchell._

_This is the Barden Strangler._

_I saw you on tv. You are wrong if you think you can catch me. I am not "mentaly ill". I do not need help. You need help. Because you can not catch me._

_You do not know any thing about me. I am writing a book._

Beca pauses to laugh disbelievingly. "A book?"

"He wouldn't be the first," Chloe says, shaking her head.

"What's he gonna call it?" Beca asks. "'Memoirs of a Murderer'?"

_I am almost done with the first chapter. I will put it in_ _Electrical Grounding and Bonding_ _at the Barden Public Library on Thursday at 3 pm._

_If you will pick it up at this time put an annonnymus personal ad in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution._

_I will be waiting._

_-The Barden Strangler_

"See?" Chloe says triumphantly, scooting back so she's sitting more fully on the desk. "I told you it would work."

"You're a genius, Beale," Beca drawls, scribbling down the name of the book, the time, and date on a sticky note. "Doesn't this seem kind of too good to be true, though? What murderer in his right mind would invite police to a rendezvous?"

Chloe waves her hand dismissively. "We'll just stake out the library for the next few days. He'll probably show up well before three o'clock—maybe even before Thursday. He's so self-inflated that he thinks that we're too stupid to come early."

"Wouldn't it be dangerous to confront him in a public place, though?" Beca asks, propping her chin on her hand to look up at Chloe. "Like, what if he brings a gun?"

"It's possible," Chloe agrees, "but improbable. That would be a situation he couldn't totally control, so he probably wouldn't risk it. I wouldn't even be surprised if he comes a few hours or a day or two early without the chapter, just to see if we're watching."

"And we will be," Beca says, frowning. "So what would that accomplish, if he doesn't bring it with him? He can just claim he was looking at the book."

"Then we'll know he's someone we should keep an eye on." Chloe runs a hand through Beca's hair, massaging her scalp. "It'll be fine. I promise."

"Okay," Beca agrees, eyes falling shut for a moment. "I should get this to the lab." Reluctantly, she stands, grabbing the letter and moving around the desk, Chloe following. "Also," she says, "do you know how to place a personal ad?"

Chloe laughs. "I'll cover that."

"Wait, you've done this before?" Beca raises an eyebrow.

"A couple of times, yeah," Chloe tells her unabashedly.

"A personal ad. In an actual newspaper," Beca clarifies, looking around for an officer on whom she can pawn off the letter.

"Yes."

"Why not just use, like, a dating website like every other normal human being?" Beca spots Benji across the hall;  _good_ , she thinks. She can trust him to get it to the lab.

"Beca." Chloe's voice makes her come to a halt. "I've done this to communicate with other serial killers, you idiot."

"Oh." Beca bites her lip. "My bad."

"Did you really think that I'm trolling the newspapers for dates?" Chloe asks, grinning amusedly.

"I mean." Beca pauses. "Not anymore."

Chloe rolls her eyes and nudges Beca on the butt, pushing her towards Benji. Beca yelps, shoving her back lightly.

"This is a professional environment," Aubrey says as she walks by, not even bothering to look at them.

Beca immediately blushes, but Chloe just snickers, breathing, "Yeah,  _Beca_ ," in her ear.

"Shut the fuck up," Beca hisses, shoving at her again for good measure before walking away.

She'll get the damn letter to the lab herself.

* * *

_To Bill Smith—_

_I will see you on Thursday at three._

_Bring your book._

* * *

The stakeout starts the next day.

Plainclothes officers take shifts keeping an eye on the engineering section (although "section" is a generous term—it's really a shelf), pretending to be reading at a table in the middle of the room. They switch frequently, in case the killer comes more than once to check if the police are watching, and a car remains stationed in the parking lot, prepared to tail him if he does show up.

Beca doesn't really trust any of the patrol officers not to fuck this up, so the people in the car are almost always either Beca and Chloe or Jesse. She would rather be inside the actual library, but the killer knows her face now, so she can't risk being seen by him.

"Is it Thursday yet?" Beca grumbles on Wednesday afternoon, resting her head against the window. They've been just sitting there since Jesse had to answer a call two hours ago, and it's been the least exciting two hours of Beca's entire life.

Chloe, who sometimes acts like she's eight years old, is having a great time.

"I spy with my little eye…" she says, looking around. "Something black."

"It's my decomposing body after I die of boredom," Beca grumbles, absently pulling at a thread on the hem of her shirt.

"Come on, Bec," Chloe says, nudging Beca with her elbow. "I spy something black."

"My heart," Beca drawls.

Chloe flops back against the seat. "You're the worst stakeout partner ever."

Beca glances over at her; Chloe is pouting—lower lip poked out, arms crossed over her chest. "Ugh, fine," Beca concedes. "Is it that car?" She points at one of the cars in the parking lot.

"Nope," Chloe says gleefully, shaking her head. It's kind of ridiculous how excited she gets over a simple game. (Ridiculous and adorable.)

"Um…" Beca scans the lot. "Is it  _that_ car?"

"It's not a car, Beca," Chloe huffs.

Beca rolls her eyes. "Oh. Um, is it the book return thing?"

"You got it!" Chloe all but shouts, clapping her hands. "Your turn."

"Chloe, no," Beca groans. "Can we talk about something a little more adult?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Beca mumbles, picking at the Styrofoam of her long-empty coffee cup. "The economy?"

Chloe raises an eyebrow. "You want to talk about the economy?"

"Capitalism is the root of all evil."

"Beca, shut up," Chloe says, shifting in her seat.

"Wow,  _rude_ ," Beca says, although she really just enjoys pushing Chloe's buttons. "Is that any way to—"

She's cut off when Chloe grabs the front of her shirt, pulling her closer and bringing their lips together. Beca squeaks in surprise, trying to find a place to put her hand so she doesn't crash face-first into the gear shift.

The angle is awkward—Beca has one hand on Chloe's thigh and one on the glove compartment—but if Chloe wants to make out, Beca will make do.

Chloe suckles on Beca's bottom lip, flicking her tongue against it in a way that makes Beca whimper. Chloe's hand is still clutched in Beca's shirt, and she runs the other through Beca's hair, tangling her fingers at the base of Beca's neck and tugging gently. She moves her mouth to the corner of Beca's, pressing kisses across the seam of her lips before moving down over her jawline. Beca tips her head back to allow Chloe more access. It's slightly uncomfortable, but she's more focused on the way that Chloe leaves little nips wherever her mouth moves.

Beca can feel Chloe's breath, hot and heavy in her ear as her girlfriend suckles at her earlobe, grazing her teeth over it teasingly. Beca shifts a little, trying to find a position that doesn't put so much strain on the wrist that's supporting her weight.

Chloe seems to sense Beca's struggle and pulls back with a, "Hang on a sec." She slides her seat back a little and pats her thighs, signaling Beca to climb over the console and straddle her.

"What if," Beca asks breathlessly as Chloe kisses down her neck, "the killer shows up?"

"We will cross that bridge when we come to it," Chloe says, and it doesn't really answer the question, but Beca isn't one to argue when Chloe is licking a path up her throat, teeth scraping against her skin.

Beca can't help but roll her hips against Chloe's loving the soft moan she receives in response. She grabs Chloe's chin with her hand, bringing their lips back together.

Her knees kind of hurt from being all folded up, and she has to angle her face down to kiss Chloe, their noses bumping together. But Chloe's hands are sliding up the back of her shirt, untucking it from her pants and roaming across the skin of her back and around to Beca's front. She edges her fingers along the underside of Beca's bra, smirking when Beca groans and arches her back, trying to urge Chloe's hands to where she wants them.

"Chloe," Beca pants frustratedly, digging her fingernails into Chloe's shoulders.

"What?" Chloe asks, batting her eyelashes.

Beca rolls her eyes and grinds down a little harder, figuring Chloe will get the idea. The response she gets is Chloe dragging her nails down Beca's stomach, making her skin break out in goosebumps.

Beca gasps against Chloe's mouth, shifting restlessly in her lap, trying to find some sort of friction. She tugs at the hair at the base of Chloe's neck, lips slanting heavily against hers. The soft growl Beca gets in response sends tingles all the way down her spine.

_Ding!_  Beca's phone chimes from its spot in the cupholder. She wants to ignore it, but she's not about to get fired for letting the killer get away because she's too busy behaving like a teenage boy.

If that is what this is.

_Ding!_  "Jesus Christ," Beca mutters, twisting around awkwardly to grab her phone. "I'm coming."

"Who is it?" Chloe asks, smoothing her hair with her palms.

"It's from Donald," Beca says, heart rate picking up a bit. Donald is the officer stationed inside the library.

_Man w/ dark hair and glasses walked through the shelves. Looked at the book but didn't touch it. Looked around a lot like he was looking for something. Heading out now_.

"Shit," Beca curses, attempting to dismount Chloe and slide back into her seat without hitting her head on anything.

"What?" Chloe asks, eyes wide. "Is it him?"

"I don't know," Beca says, shoving her phone into Chloe's hands as she rights her clothing and clips her seatbelt. "Keep your eyes on the door."

Chloe drops the phone back into its spot in the cupholder and leans forward, squinting as she looks out the windshield.

No one but a mother and her two kids appears for a couple of minutes, but then an average-sized dark-haired man with glasses and a slight potbelly pushes through the door, walking briskly to his car as he cranes his neck to survey the parking lot.

Beca's heart is now hammering in her chest as she watches the man climb into a silver four-door Sedan. She waits until he's nearly out of the parking lot before turning her key in the ignition, trying to be as stealthy as possible.

"Try and stay a couple of cars behind him," Chloe advises, and Beca rolls her eyes because she's not dumb enough to give them away by driving up his ass.

"Why don't I just give him a tap to let him know I mean business?" Beca asks sarcastically, pulling out onto the street.

"I would smack you, but I don't want to risk it," Chloe says, crossing her arms and pouting dramatically.

"Oh, and not because smacking your girlfriend is wrong?" Beca counters. The playful banter helps calm her nerves as she turns at the intersection, her hands shaking against the steering wheel. She cranes her neck to keep an eye on the car, which is separated from them by green Subaru with fifty thousand bumper stickers.

Chloe seems to sense her nerves. "You're doing good, Bec."

Beca nods as she watches the car turn onto a residential street. She flips on her turn signal and follows, driving deliberately below the speed limit to keep some distance between them.

"Beca, you're doing  _fine_ ," Chloe says, and it isn't until then that Beca realizes she's been muttering "fuck" under her breath over and over again. She pauses longer than necessary at a stop sign before following the car past a row of multi-family homes.

Beca gets more and more nervous with every side street they turn onto, sure that they look increasingly more suspicious.

Finally, the car pulls into the driveway of a two-story white house with a porch and a row of hedges in its front yard.

Beca cruises past the house at a slow speed to Chloe can hurriedly write down the address. Craning her neck when she stops at the end of the street, Beca can just make out the man getting out of the car and entering the house.

Beca turns onto another street so they're out of sight before pulling over. It isn't until she takes her hands off of the wheel that she realizes how badly they're shaking, and she's breathing hard.

"Now what?" she asks Chloe, who's still looking out of the back windshield.

"Now we strategize," Chloe says, turning back around and looking at Beca. "Figure out what our next step is going to be."

Beca nods, running a hand through her hair. "I just want to nail this guy right now," she says.

"I know," Chloe agrees, "but we don't even know for sure if this  _is_ the UNSUB. That's why we need a plan."

"I know," Beca echoes, restarting the car. "You got the address?"

"Yep," Chloe confirms. She squeezes Beca's clammy hand for a moment. "Why don't we get something to eat?"

Beca's too anxious to be hungry, but a change of scenery sounds good. She knows Chloe is trying to distract her. "Sure."

* * *

Chloe insists on going into some tiny diner that has an extensive ice cream menu.

"Ice cream is automatic stress relief, Bec," Chloe tells her as they're seated at a little booth in a corner. "This is, like, common knowledge."

Beca raises her eyebrows but doesn't argue, and instead pretends to read the menu. She's far too preoccupied with thoughts about the case, her mind racing as she stares blankly at the pages.

"Beca." Chloe nudges Beca's leg with her foot. "Let's leave work outside, okay?"

Beca sighs. "Okay."

"What's your favorite color?" Chloe asks after a moment.

"What?"

"What's your favorite color?" Chloe repeats, giving Beca a pointed look. Beca realizes she's trying to distract her.

"Um… Green?" Beca shrugs. "I don't know. I don't really have one?"

"How do you not have a favorite color?" Chloe asks, looking offended. "Everyone has a favorite color."

"I don't discriminate on the basis of color. Ow!" Chloe gives her a sharp kick under the table. "Jeez. Calm down. What's your favorite color, miss high and mighty?"

"Blue," Chloe says with a smile.

"No specific shade?" Beca teases. "That doesn't count, then."

"I'm just trying to have a conversation with you," Chloe grumbles, flicking the paper wrapper from her straw at Beca. "No need to attack me."

Beca rolls her eyes and tries to actually read the menu.

"What's your favorite ice cream?"

Beca glances at the list of ice cream flavors and picks one at random. "Uh, moose tracks."

Chloe looks at her for a moment. "Do you not have a favorite ice cream flavor, either?"

"I plead the fifth."

"What is  _wrong_ with you?" Chloe asks. "No offense," she adds quickly.

Beca claps a hand over her heart dramatically. "Well, I  _was_ going to be offended, but now I'm not," she drawls.

Chloe hides her smile behind her menu. "Sorry."

"I guess I'm just an all-around equal opportunity employer," Beca says. "And also I don't eat very much ice cream."

"Didn't your parents love you?" Chloe asks, but she's grinning, so Beca knows she's purposely trying to push her buttons.

"I'm not the one whose parents didn't let her watch Survivor," Beca counters.

"You can't hold that against me," Chloe says, pouting her lower lip.

"You use stuff against me all the time!" Beca points out indignantly.

"But you find it endearing." Chloe bats her eyelashes.

"I really don't see how you've drawn that conclusion, but okay."

"Hello." Beca looks up to see their waitress, pen poised above a notepad. "Are you ladies ready to order?"

Beca glances at Chloe. She has no idea what she wants, but Chloe goes ahead and says, "We'll have two Oreo sundaes, please."

Beca just nods, not bothering to argue.

She trusts Chloe.


	13. Chapter 13

Unsurprisingly, Aubrey calls them into a meeting first thing the next day.

Also unsurprisingly, she's strangely calm about the whole thing.

Beca and Jesse are practically bouncing out of their seats with nervous energy, but Chloe just sits there taking notes like she does this for a living.

Oh, right. She does.

"A check run on the address says that this man's name is Paul Howell," Aubrey tells them.

It's strange to hear it spoken out loud—after all this time, the man they've been hunting for has a name and a face. Beca's not sure why, but she feels vaguely unsettled.

"So what are we gonna do?" Jesse asks, twirling a pen between his fingers.

"Well," Aubrey says, resting her elbows on her desk, "we can't arrest him on the basis of looking at a library book."

"I doubt we can even get a warrant to collect a DNA sample," Chloe agrees.

"So we just want and see if he drops off the chapter?" Beca asks.

"Yes," Aubrey replies.

As if on cue, there's a knock at the door.

"Come in," Aubrey calls, and the door opens to reveal Jessica, the secretary at the front desk.

"Hi," Jessica says, stepping into the office. "Sorry to interrupt, but—" She moves aside so Ashley, one of the techs that works at the department can come inside, too. In her gloved hand, Ashley holds an envelope. "You have a letter, Detective Mitchell."

The department has become exceedingly cautious with mail since the killer sent the letter to the  _Atlanta Journal-Constitution_.

Beca groans internally; this can't be good. "What does the return address say?" she asks, although she has a feeling she knows whom it's from.

"Bill Smith," Ashley says, nodding when Beca sighs. "Just wanted to let you know before I open it."

"Thanks," Beca says. "Go right ahead."

They watch as Ashley carefully opens the envelope, then bags it before sliding its contents—a single sheet of paper—into a separate bag.

"Here you go," Ashley says, handing the letter to Beca. "Just give it to me when you're done and I'll send it to the lab."

"Okay, thanks," Beca tells her, holding the letter at arm's length so Jesse and Chloe can read over her shoulder.

_Hello Detective Mitchell._

_I have decided that I will send my book to New South Publishing._

_I wanted to see if you would do anything I asked._

_I know you have been waiting for me. I saw a police car at the library._

_You can try to catch me but you can not catch me._

"Goddammit," Beca grumbles. She's so over this cat-and-mouse game

"Does he know you followed him home?" Jesse asks, his voice hushed, like the Paul might be listening.

Beca shrugs. "So," she says, handing the letter over to Aubrey to let her read it, "what's the plan now?"

Aubrey's eyes skim the page. She hesitates, and Beca can tell that even she isn't sure. "Agent Beale?"

Chloe thinks for a moment. "We need to get our hands on his DNA."

"Yeah," Beca says slowly, not sure why Chloe is stating the obvious. "How are we gonna do that."

"Faryion Wardrip," Chloe says.

"What?" Beca asks.

"Faryion Wardrip," Chloe repeats. "He was a serial killer active in Texas in the eighties. He was caught in 1999 by John Little, who got his DNA from a coffee cup Wardrip had thrown away. It matched DNA found at the crime scenes of the muders."

"What are you proposing?" Aubrey asks, handing the letter back to Ashley with a, "Thanks."

"Well, we can't get a warrant right now," Chloe says, "and there's no way he's gonna give us a sample voluntarily. We don't want to tip him off, anyway, because we'll never hear from him again. Plus, he'd probably lawyer up so we won't be able to get within ten feet of him."

"So you want us to find another way to get his DNA," Beca says, catching on. "Without him knowing."

"Yes," Chloe confirms. "It can't hurt to stake him out for awhile and see if we get lucky. We just have to be careful."

"Let's just say that this guy does throw away a cup or something," Jesse says. "Can we take it?"

"The law says that if you throw something away, you relinquish all claim to it," Chloe replies.

"I've always wanted to do a good, old-fashioned stakeout," Jesse says, looking genuinely excited. Beca just thinks it sounds like a lot of boring waiting.

"Well, first what we have to do is establish a pattern," Chloe says, scribbling down notes as she speaks. "Figure out what his habits are—what times he leaves the house, where he goes, how long he's there, et cetera. Once we know where to wait, it's just a matter of time until we get something we can use."

Beca glances at Aubrey, who's been quiet for several minutes.

"What do we have to lose?" Aubrey says finally, leaning back in her chair. "You have experience with this, yes?" Chloe nods. "I'll let you decide how you would like to proceed."

It's a rather un-Aubrey thing to say; usually, she always has some kind of set plan. She has ten answers to every question and wants everything done a particular way. Beca remembers one time when Aubrey made a forty-eight-slide PowerPoint on how to properly issue a speeding citation. Seeing her essentially handing the reins over to Chloe is… strange.

"Okay," Chloe says, looking a little surprised herself. "I guess we'll start trailing him as soon as possible, then."

"Define 'we,'" Beca says, not particularly excited about the prospect of following this guy around for an indefinite amount of time.

Chloe looks at her a little apologetically, and Beca resists the urge to drop her head into her hands. "Do you really want to trust the patrol officers with this?" Chloe asks. Then she adds quickly, "Not that your officers are incompetent or anything. I just have far more experience with this. I'd be happy to take some along for the ride."

"No, it's fine," Beca tells her. The only thing worse than spending all her time staking out a person who might not even be the killer would be to do it with a party of officers in the car.

"Okay," Chloe says with finality. "We'll start establishing a pattern tomorrow. We're probably going to need to have access to different cars so the UNSUB doesn't notice the same car following him all at time."

Aubrey nods. "I'll let everyone know that we'll need to borrow cars."

"Excellent," Chloe says. "Thank you."

_Please, God,_ Beca prays,  _let this work._

* * *

Early the next morning, they borrow Jesse's brother's Honda civic and park at the end of the street.

After about fifteen minutes of just sitting there, Beca drawls, "This is exciting."

"Shut up," Chloe says. "We are most definitely not making out right now." She has a notepad in her lap, pen poised over it.

It wasn't what Beca was implying, but she takes on a mock-offended tone: "And here I thought you loved me."

"You know, what we're taught at the Bureau," Chloe says, eyes never leaving the house, "is that it takes at least two people to work an effective stationary surveillance—one to have 'the eye'"—she holds her fingers up in air quotes—"whose job is to keep an eye on the objective, and the other to assist with the surveillance and keep the log, which is a record of every action taking place in the target zone."

"What's the purpose of the log?" Beca asks. She obviously understands taking some notes, but they're not expecting anything profound. It mostly sounds like a lot of work.

"Well, the log can become the foundation of your testimony in court," Chloe explains, tapping the pen against the paper. "It doesn't necessarily apply here, because our objective is just to get this guy's DNA, but sometimes a what seems like an insignificant observation can be the key to an entire case."

"Like what?"

"A story we were told in training that a major breakthrough in a foreign counterintelligence case came with the discovery that two Thursdays in a row, a man threw an empty pack of Salem cigarettes into a garbage can," Chloe recounts. "The garbage can was a dead drop, and the cigarette pack was the signal calling the spies to a secret meeting."

"Wow," Beca says, fingers drumming against the steering wheel as she stares at the house.

"We were told that no matter how long we were stuck on surveillance, we can't read or look at our phones or anything," Chloe continues. "Your full concentration has to stay focused on the target. But at the same time, that singularity of focus can also be dangerous. Agents have been shot to death sitting in their cars because they were so busy looking at their target that they didn't sense the approach of danger."

"Oh." Beca hardly thinks anyone is going to creep up on them with a gun, but she understands Chloe's point. "Sounds like a real party at the FBI."

Chloe chuckles. "About the only thing you can do to stave off boredom on a long surveillance is eat. It's a sensory stimulation thing. I've seen people easily pack on twenty or thirty pounds when a surveillance drags on for weeks or months."

"Have you ever been on a really long surveillance?" Beca asks, glancing at Chloe. She can't imagine her sitting in a car or hiding out somewhere and eating chips for a month.

Chloe shakes her head. "Nothing more than a week or two."

"So this is gonna be fun, huh?" Beca mutters, turning back to the house.

Chloe pats a bag at her feet. "Yep."

Beca peers over at it. "Wait, what's in there?"

"Snacks," Chloe says matter-of-factly.

"Oh." Beca had wondered why Chloe had brought a backpack with her, but she figured that she knew what she was doing.

Beca settles back against the seat and they watch the house in silence for awhile. People drift by—runners, kids on their way to the bus stop, people walking their dogs—and Beca has to resist the urge to warn them that they're casually living out their lives down the street from a serial murderer. It's particularly difficult to see the kids pass right in front of the house.

Suddenly, Chloe grabs her arm.

"What?" Beca snaps her gaze back to the house, where she sees the garage door opening. "Shit," she mutters under her breath as the silver Sedan from the library backs out.

Beca waits until the car is halfway down the street before starting her own, pulling away from the curb and driving after him down to the corner. He turns left, and Beca follows him down a residential street to the main road.

Once she merges, she allows a couple of cars to move in between them to disguise herself. She looks quickly over at Chloe, who is leaning forward in her seat, alternating between peering at the Sedan and furiously writing down notes.

Beca grips the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turn white. They pass stores and restaurants before the Sedan heads onto the highway.

"Doing good, Bec," Chloe says softly, as if she's trying not to distract Beca.

They drive for about ten minutes before exiting. Beca recognizes the exit as the one she took on the very few occasions she went to the nearby mall.

Finally, the car pulls into the parking lot of an office park. Slowly, Beca cruises past, turning around at the end of the street. She parks in the lot of a Dunkin Donuts across from the office park with the intention of waiting there a bit before taking a closer look at the office buildings.

Beca doesn't realize until she cuts the engine how hard she's breathing. "This is a thing that's really happening," she says, more to herself than to Chloe.

"Yeah," Chloe says slowly, quirking an eyebrow.

"I mean." Beca gestures vaguely. "It just all feels so  _real_ now, right?"

"I see what you mean." Chloe unzips her backpack and pulls out a granola bar. "You hungry?"

Beca laughs; suddenly, she just wants to kiss Chloe. "Sure," she says instead, taking the granola bar and tearing open the wrapper. "So what now?" she asks, her mouth full.

"Now," Chloe says, and she pauses for a moment for dramatic effect, "we wait."

"My favorite," Beca says sarcastically.

"Let's check out the layout of the buildings," Chloe says after several minutes of silence. Beca nods and starts the car again, pulling into the parking lot. Slowly, she circles the buildings, looking back and forth to take everything in.

"There's the car," Chloe says, pointing.

Beca glances at the sign of the closest building. "Metro Computer Atlanta," she reads. "I guess he fixes computers."

Chloe makes a  _hmm_ sound. "Let's park over there," she suggests, pointing to an empty parking space far enough away to be inconspicuous but close enough to keep tabs on the car.

Beca does as she's told, backing into the space and cutting the engine. "Let the waiting begin," she mutters, mostly to herself. She lowers the windows a bit to let in some air and settles back against the seat.

They sit quietly for a long time, only occasionally exchanging small talk. Nothing, it seems, is going to tear Chloe's gaze away from the parking lot, and she hunches over notepad, scribbling notes occasionally. About what, Beca can't be sure, because absolutely nothing is happening, save for the occasional car that drives past.

Beca finds herself mindlessly plowing through the snacks Chloe's brought—she was right about the sensory input thing. Staring at a parking lot for hours on end will do that to you.

Beca shifts in her seat, trying to find a position to keep her ass and her legs from falling asleep. She fidgets restlessly, bored out of her mind.

"Can we turn on the radio?" she asks around three o'clock. Chloe doesn't answer, but gives her this  _look_ that has Beca muttering, "Never mind."

"How come we could fool around on the other stakeout?" Beca asks about an hour later.

"That was different," Chloe says, opening a bag of chips.

"How so?"

A pause. "It just was," Chloe tells her.

Beca eyes the side of Chloe's face, since her girlfriend is still staring out of the windshield. "Or could you just not resist me?" Beca says, smirking.

Chloe glances at her, eyes flicking down to Beca's lips momentarily. "Don't distract me," she chastises.

Beca rolls her eyes and steals one of Chloe's chips. The wrappers and bags of their eaten snacks litter the backseat where they've been carelessly tossed. Beca makes a mental note to clean it out before returning the car to Jesse's brother.

As the evening approaches, people begin to file out of the office building to their cars. Beca leans forward in her seat, squinting to see if any of the faces belong to the potential killer.

Suddenly, Chloe hisses, "There he is."

"Where?" Beca's eyes scan the group of people, finally spotting the stocky man with the glasses heading towards his silver Sedan. "I see him."

They wait with bated breath as the man climbs into his car and backs out of the space, turning away from Beca and Chloe's car and driving out of the lot.

Carefully, Beca starts the car and follows him. Looking both ways at the exit, she spots him driving down the road on her right. They tail him all the way back to his house, where he pulls into the driveway.

"Well," Beca says, cutting parking a few doors down and cutting the engine, "that was exciting." She glances at the clock. 5:56 pm. "We can leave at midnight, right?"

"Yep," Chloe confirms. They'd agreed that it would probably be safe to go home during the night.

"So we've only got six more hours," Beca complains. "Great."

* * *

"You can't even see anything in the dark," Beca grumbles a few hours later as darkness finally settles over the neighborhood.

"Shush," Chloe says. "You'd be able to see the headlights if someone was leaving in a car."

By the time midnight rolls around, Beca is practically asleep on the steering wheel. Every part of her body is exhausted, her eyes are heavy, and her brain feels sluggish from sitting and staring off into space for so many hours. She actually doesn't even realize it's midnight until Chloe nudges her.

"Bec," Chloe says, shaking her arm. "Ready to leave?"

"What?" Beca rubs the heels of her hands over her eyes.

"We can go." Chloe points to the clock.

"Oh." Beca turns the key into the ignition. "Okay."

She just wants to fall into bed and sleep forever.

* * *

 

They track Paul for the rest of the week—mostly between home and work, but also out to the hardware story, the grocery store, and, on one occasion, to a Dunkin Donuts.

Chloe gets particularly excited about that, but Paul just swings through the drive-through and drives away, taking his cup (and his DNA) with him.

By the time Monday rolls around again, they're starting to run out of people to borrow cars from, and Beca is starting to run out of patience.

They both have things that they need to be doing—Beca has reports to review from the people on whom she'd dumped her other cases, and Chloe has cases that she's still managing, too.

Plus, Beca's pretty sure her butt has flattened even more—if it were at all possible—from all of the sitting.

She prays that this'll all be over soon.

Their opportunity comes when Paul and his family go out for dinner.

That's another thing that Beca finds unsettling—this dude has a family. He has a wife and not one but  _two_ children. It takes everything in her for Beca to resist pulling up alongside them and yanking the kids into her car.

They follow the Sedan to a Ruby Tuesday's in downtown Atlanta. Beca's hands are shaking slightly when she cuts the engine, because  _this could be it_.

"What do we do?" she asks Chloe. She'd just head in after him, but he knows her face and might know Chloe's, too.

Chloe pulls out her phone and searches something on it. "Aha," she murmurs to herself, tapping the screen and putting the phone to her ear. "Hello. Could I speak to the manager, please?" A pause. "Yes, hi. My name is Chloe Beale and I'm with the FBI and the Barden Police Department. This is going to sound really strange, but could you come out into the parking lot so I can speak with you? I know this probably sounds like a prank, but if you could just humor me I'd really appreciate it. Okay, thank you."

Beca stares at her. "Did they actually agree to that?"

Chloe nods, opening the door of the car. She leans in to grab a large plastic evidence bag out of her backpack. "Yep."

Beca just shakes her head as she follows Chloe to the door. There's a middle-aged woman standing there, looking skeptical.

"Hello," Chloe says, holding up her badge. Beca does the same. "Thank you so much for speaking to us."

"What's this about?" the woman asks. Her nametag reads Alice.

"So we're tailing a man who's in your restaurant, and we're trying to get something with his DNA on it," Chloe explains. "Like a cup or, in this case, maybe a fork he's used. You're absolutely under no obligation to give us anything, since we don't have a warrant."

"Okay," Alice says, looking a little bit confused. "So what are you asking me to do?"

"If you don't mind, we would  _really_ appreciate if you could give us the dishes and utensils this man has used," Chloe says. "But, of course, it's up to you."

Alice seems to think about it for a moment. "Okay," she agrees, and Beca bites on her lip to keep from making some kind of noise or stupid facial expression. "I don't see why not."

Chloe tenses visibly, fists clenching in the way that she does when she's trying to suppress an outburst of emotion. "Thank you," she says, her voice tight and controlled. "His name is Paul Howell, and he's here with his wife and two teenage daughters. He has dark hair and a mustache, and he wears glasses. He arrived about fifteen minutes ago."

"Alright," Alice says. "So what would you like me to do with the silverware and dishes?"

"Just put them right in here," Chloe tells her, handing over the bag. "We really,  _really_  appreciate this."

Alice nods. "Okay, I'll have someone bring these out later."

"Great. We're parked right there." Chloe points to the car that they'd borrowed from Stacie.

Alice gives them a little smile and heads back inside.

"Holy shit," Beca breathes once she's out of earshot. "Holy.  _Shit_."

"We're so close," Chloe says, turning to head back to the car.

Beca can barely breathe throughout the forty-five minutes they wait there for the manager to reappear.

Chloe seems more keyed up; she taps her nails against the dashboard, fiddles with her pen, tugs at her hair. Beca knows Chloe gets restless when she's excited; Beca, on the other hand, is terrified—what if this doesn't work? Or worse, what if this isn't their guy?

Chloe must sense that Beca's mind is running in circles because she reaches over and squeezes Beca's hand with a reassuring smile.

Beca smiles back, forcing herself to take a breath.  _Everything will be fine_ , she tells herself.

Finally,  _finally,_ Alice comes out of the restaurant, the evidence bag in hand. Beca springs from her seat and has to keep herself from sprinting across the parking lot.

" _Thank_  you so much," Chloe tells her, taking the bag. Its contents consist of a plate, a fork, knife, and spoon, and a plastic cup. "This was from Paul Howell?"

"Yes," Alice confirms. "His name was on the bill. I hope this helps," she says with a small smile. "Good luck." And then she turns and disappears through the door.

Chloe ushers Beca back to the car, just in case Paul and his family should be exiting the restaurant.

Beca fumbles with her keys for a moment before jamming them into the ignition.

"Let's get this to the lab," she says, and peels out of the parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in the story of Fariyon Wardrip (it's a pretty wild one), Scream at the Sky: Five Texas Murders and One Man's Crusade for Justice by Carlton Stowers is a really great read. Also, the bit about stakeouts was taken from Special Agent: My Life on the Front Lines as a Woman in the FBI by Candice DeLong.


	14. Chapter 14

Beca is probably driving Chloe  _nuts_.

She can't sit still or pay attention to anything right now—not when she's  _so close_ to the end of this case.

At this point, having the wrong guy just isn't an option.

Beca throws herself into the cases on which she's fallen behind just for a distraction; the only reason she's even sleeping is because Chloe rubs her back and sings softly to her until she can relax.

Chloe has been amazing for stability—she handles this kind of stuff on a weekly basis, so she's had plenty of experience with the waiting game.

But this is officially the biggest case of Beca's career, so she's an anxious mess.

She checks her phone obsessively, sometimes waking up three or four times a night just to see if she has any messages.

Chloe even has to talk Beca down from heading over to the lab herself and demanding they put a rush on it.

It ends up taking two weeks—which, actually, is quite fast. (Rationally, Beca knows this. But it's still way too long.)

It's Jesse who calls.

He calls at eight o'clock on a Wednesday morning—which, in Beca's opinion, is far too early for human interaction. But she still dives across her kitchen counter to answer it.

"Is it back?" she asks, not even giving Jesse a chance to get a word out.

"Yeah, it's back," Jesse says, his voice solemn.

"And?" Beca says impatiently, as Chloe looks on from her seat at the table. "Is it him?"

"No," Jesse says, and Beca's heart plummets to her feet.

Then:

" _Psych!_ " Jesse shouts into the phone. "We got it! It's him!"

It isn't until Beca hears a clatter that she realizes that she's dropped her phone.

She quickly stoops down to grab it again, and when she rights herself, Chloe is right next to her. Her expression is questioning, and Beca just nods, unable to form words.

"Woooo!" Chloe whoops, snagging the phone out of Beca's hand. "We'll see you soon, Swanson!" she says. "Get your party hats out!"

Chloe ends the call and puts Beca's phone on the counter.

"How are you?" Chloe asks, putting a hand on one of Beca's tense shoulders.

Beca pauses. She doesn't really feel all that much of anything—she feels almost detached. "I can't even bring myself to believe it's real," she says, leaning into the touch of Chloe's hand against her cheek. "We can celebrate when we have this dick behind bars."

Chloe smiles and presses a kiss to Beca's lips. "Okay," she says, stroking Beca's hair once before moving past her in the direction of the bathroom. "I'm gonna hold you to that."

Beca chuckles despite herself. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

* * *

There's traffic on the way to the station.

_Traffic_. On today, of all days.

By the time they finally walk into the precinct, Beca is a ball of nervous energy, coiled tightly and ready to spring loose at any moment.

She's not quite sure what she expected when she arrived—it's not like the test results are being passed around the department—but it wasn't people just going about their normal days.

Beca's tempted to shout, "WE KNOW WHO THE KILLER IS!" Somehow, though, she doesn't think that'd go over so well.

Plus they're  _so close_ , and she wouldn't ever do anything to jeopardize that.

Jesse nearly bowls them over on their way to Aubrey's office, and before he can say anything, Beca hisses, "Shh!"

(Like she said—she's not gonna jeopardize anything.)

She barely allows herself to breathe until they're safely shut into the office. Surprisingly—and for the first time in about as long as Beca can remember—Aubrey has a small, satisfied smile on her face.

"Okay," Jesse says impatiently, "now what?"

"Now, Detective Swanson," Aubrey says, drawing out the words, "we wait for a warrant."

"Can we just—"

"No," Aubrey cuts Jesse off before he can even get his question out. "I'm not going to allow for this man to be acquitted on a technicality because you're antsy, and I know you wouldn't, either. So I suggest you call the DA."

"Fine," Jesse grumbles, sighing turning to Beca and Chloe. "Let's call Denise."

It's a pretty anticlimactic day, but Beca's mind is still racing; she mentally goes over every question she wants to nail this guy with when they finally get him in, riffing interrogation strategies off of Jesse.

Chloe is pretty much the only reason the complaint actually gets filed that day, because Beca and Jesse are just too wound up.

Beca barely sleeps that night, tossing and turning and periodically getting up to scribble some random thought on a piece of paper until Chloe literally rolls on top of her to keep her in bed.

"Go the fuck to sleep," Chloe growls tiredly, and Beca feels a pang of guilt for keeping her up.

Beca finally settles down, finding solace in the evenness of Chloe's breathing; she looks so angelic in her sleep.

And then it hits her, and suddenly Beca can't breathe.

The case is nearly over.

Which means Chloe will have to go back to Virginia.

The stress of the last few years coupled with the fear of losing Chloe sink heavily in Beca's stomach, and for a moment she can't even move—then she's clinging to Chloe for dear life, pressing her nose into the crook of Chloe's neck, trying to memorize the softness of her skin and the scent of her hair.

"Bec?" Chloe mumbles sleepily, rousing for the second time that night. "Bec, are you okay?"

Beca just squeezes her tighter; she can't speak around the lump in her throat.

"Beca, you're crying," Chloe says, sitting up slightly, and it isn't until then that Beca realizes that there are tears rolling down her cheeks. "What's going on?"

Beca clears her throat a few times and chokes out, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Chloe says, running a hand over Beca's hair. She sounds a little bit confused, but she doesn't push, waiting until Beca speaks again.

"I don't want you to leave," Beca finally whispers. She's having a vague sense of déjà vu—except, this time, there's no potential for Chloe to return.

Chloe seems to sense exactly what she means, Beca's she pulls Beca close, holding her tightly. "I'm not going to leave you," Chloe says, her breath hot against Beca's skin. "We'll figure this out. I promise."

Beca nods—not because she feels at all reassured, but she's just too damn exhausted to go through this again.

She falls asleep with her head on Chloe's chest, the steady beating of her heart reminding Beca that Chloe is still here.

For now.

* * *

It's absolutely no surprise that Denise agrees to file the criminal complaint, but Jesse is still acting like a child on Christmas morning.

Beca celebrates with him—with a whoop and a three-second hug—but half of her just wants to sit down and let someone else deal with this whole thing.

That's not really an option, and Beca's worked too hard to hand the reins over.

When she's actually in the car driving to Paul Howell's office, she starts to feel the excitement.

(Maybe "excited" isn't the most appropriate word, but she's  _pumped_ to finally nail this fucker.)

Beca, Jesse, Chloe, and several backup patrol officers—after all, the man is known to be armed—storm the building, flashing badges as they stroll past the deck.

The thoroughly frightened-looking secretary quickly gives them directions as to Paul's whereabouts.

Beca has to admit, she feels pretty badass, stomping down the hallway with Chloe on her heels. People come to the doors of their office to stare as they walk past, finally stopping outside of a cuticle.

Beca inhales sharply at the sight of Paul hunched over a computer, glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looks so… normal. Typical. Mundane.

"Paul Howell?" Beca says, holding up her badge. She's proud of the way her voice comes out steady and smooth, if a little smug.

Paul freezes, hands stiffening over the keyboard as he looks up. Beca doesn't think she's ever seen anyone look more terrified in her entire life.

"You're under arrest for the murders of Madeline Childress, Julie Jacobson, and Karen Albright."

Paul doesn't move, so Jesse steps in and gently hauls him to his feet by the shoulders.

Beca moves behind Paul, slapping the handcuffs on him with a satisfying  _click_. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything can and will be used against you in a court of law," she recites. "You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as I have told them to you?"

Paul nods almost imperceptibly. "Yes," he says faintly.

"Alright," Jesse says, grabbing Paul's upper arm and guiding him out of the cubicle. "Let's go."

The office is really turning into a circus now; people are almost blocking the hallway entirely, looking confusedly at Paul as they pass.  _Betcha didn't know your coworker was a serial killer, huh?_ Beca thinks to herself smugly.

Beca glances down at Paul's hands secured behind his back; she tries to imagine those hands wrapping around little Alison King's neck and squeezing, but she can't. He looks too… ordinary. It's thrilling and terrifying, holding onto the man that terrorized his torn for so long simply by blending in.

They usher Paul into the back of a squad car and head back to the station. Beca's heart races at a million miles an hour as they drive. Chloe just smiles at her softly and places a hand on Beca's arm, grounding her and reassuring her with a squeeze.

The first thing they do is have one of the techs swab Paul's cheek for DNA, just to confirm what they already know.

By the time Beca's standing in front of the door to the interrogation room, her brain is a mess. She takes a breath, collecting herself.

She glances at Chloe, whose lips turn upward slightly. "Let's do this."

And with that, she opens the door.

Paul, for being an average-sized man, looks rather small shrunk back against the plastic chair under the harsh lighting.

"Hello," Beca says curtly, dropping the audio recorder and her notepad onto the table. "I'm—"

"Detective Mitchell," Paul finishes, his expression blank and unreadable.

"Yep," Beca confirms. She's trying to be at least semi-polite, but it's proving quite difficult. "This is Detective Jesse Swanson and Special Agent Chloe Beale from the FBI.

Chloe gives Paul a little wave.

Beca continues, "Now, as a reminder, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will—"

"I know," Paul says, his voice a tad bit shaky.

Beca raises en eyebrow. "I need to be sure you're aware of your rights." She's not going to let this interrogation get thrown out in court because she didn't follow the protocol.

"I am," Paul tells her. He reaches an arm out; Beca almost flinches at first, but she sees that he's gesturing to the Miranda waiver.

"You sure you want to talk to us?" Beca asks skeptically, but hands over the slip anyway.

"I'm sure." Paul scrawls his name at the bottom of the page.

"Okay," Beca says, slipping the paper into her file folder and flipping on the recorder. "Do you know why you're here, Mr. Howell?" she asks.

"Probably for the Barden Strangler thing," Paul answers, tapping his fingers against the table. Beca notices Chloe's eyes zero in on the motion. "I've been following the case for while."

"Since the first murder?" Chloe asks.

Paul appears a bit flustered by the question. "Well, I don't know. It's always been an interest."

"Do you know why we swabbed you today?" Chloe asks. Beca glances over at her and sees that she's smiling smugly with a look that clearly says  _we've got all the cards, pal_.

"I assume I'm a suspect," Paul answers, his voice quiet.

"So," Chloe says, "if the swab we just took—"

"Yeah," Paul interrupts, leaning forward.

"If it comes back a match…" Chloe continues, trailing off.

"Then I guess that will be it," Paul replies, his face devoid of any sort of emotion.

"You're the Barden Strangler?" Beca cuts in.

"I mean," Paul says, looking down at his hands, "if that's what the scientists say."

"Do you think it'll come back positive?" Beca asks.

"I don't know," Paul says shortly.

Beca's instinct is to raise her eyebrows, but she schools her features into an impassive mask. "How do you think we found you, then?"

Paul shrugs. "I don't know. You must have something on me, otherwise you wouldn't have brought me in."

Beca sits back in the chair, steepling her fingers together. "Remember a few weeks ago when you went out to Ruby Tuesday's with your family?"

"Yes," Paul answers, eyebrows knit together.

"We asked the management to give us your utensils," Beca tells him, "so we could test your DNA."

A muscle in Paul's cheek twitches and he pales a bit, but otherwise his face remains blank. "Oh."

"Mr. Howell, tell me," Chloe says, "what do you think the motivation would be for all of this?"

"Motivation?" Paul looks up at the ceiling, mulling the thought over. "Well, what's the motivation for a serial killer? I don't know what causes them to do what they do."

_Yes, you do_ , Beca thinks.

"I'm curious to know what you think," Chloe says, keeping her tone light.

"Well," Paul says, pushing his glasses up his nose, "I don't know too much about the genetics, but I think they have one of those off genes. An extra chromosome or something. And somewhere along the line, if that gets off kilter, they're going to go. It's like an alcoholic or something. They can't stop. They might try to control it, but it's still there. They're always planning, or thinking, or dreaming or something. To me, it's a disease. You know, you've got jails full of hardened criminals. You let them out and they go right back to what they did. A few of them straighten out. They tell themselves, 'Oh, I'll never do it again.' But basically it's inside them and they're set."

_I don't know what causes them to do what they do, my ass_ , Beca thinks to herself.  _Sounds like you've done a lot of thinking_.

"You said it's 'in their dreams,'" Chloe points out. "What do you think they're dreaming about?"

Paul nods, like he's pleased with the question. "If you'll allow me to use an example: Let's say you're a bank robber. You're always going to be dreaming about your next big haul—like how you're going to pull it off. And then one day, you might drive by a bank and look at it, then figure out that what you had in mind might not work. So then you go looking for another one. I mean, it's always in the back of your mind, always asking you, 'How are you going to do it? How are you going to work toward pulling it off?'"

Chloe puts a hand on Beca's leg, prompting her to turn her head.  _Don't talk_ , Chloe mouths, and Beca nods. She turns to Jesse, who's watched the exchange, and he nods, too.

"I think it's in his genes," Paul says, a faraway look in his eyes. "You don't have any control over it. You try and put it away, but that doesn't work. I mean, it's not accepted by society. But it's like an alcoholic or a drug addict. You know, they're going to blame it on the drugs or the alcohol. They're going to say they couldn't control it." He takes a breath and mutters, "People have problems and probably always will have problems."

Chloe nods thoughtfully, but doesn't speak. A muscle in Paul's cheek jumps, his eyes darting back and forth. He clenches his jaw, like words are trying to escape but he's resisting.

Then he looks directly at Beca, sending a chill down her spine.

"Get me a pastor," he says.

"A pastor?" Beca repeats, confused.

"Yeah," Paul says.

Beca glances at Chloe, unsure what to do.

Jesse stands. "I'll see if I can get one."

"Thanks, Jess," Beca says quietly to him as he leaves the room.

Then Paul speaks again. "You guys have got me."

Beca sits back, stunned. She tries not to let it show on her face, her hand tightening on her pen.

But then Paul continues like nothing happened. "So you're from the FBI?" he asks Chloe.

"I am," Chloe confirms.

"Did you fly out here just to work on this case?" He leans forward on his elbows, his dark eyes unblinking.

Chloe nods. "I came from the FBI Academy to come work this case," she says seriously. "It was more than the Barden PD could handle itself."

Beca feels a little miffed, even though it's true. She's pretty sure Chloe's doing that ego-feeding thing she'd talked about before.

She  _needs_ to hear the words. They know Paul is the killer; she knows it, Chloe knows it, Jesse knows it, and Paul knows it. But Beca needs to  _hear_  it—she needs a confession, signed sealed, and delivered, to nail Paul for the murders for which they don't have DNA evidence.

"Thank you for being so forthright," Chloe says, trying to coax Paul into talking more.

"Well," Paul says, looking down at his hands again, "with DNA folks out there, not much I can do about it. Haven't really said I'm the Strangler, but pretty close, I guess."

"Close?" Chloe echoes, frowning.

"Close," Paul agrees.

_What?_ Beca thinks.

"I think," Chloe says, "you'll feel better if—"

"Yeah, it's going to be an emotional drain on me," Paul interrupts. "It's going to hit me, starting right now." He shakes his head. "There isn't any way you can get out of the DNA, right?"

"You can't get out of your DNA unless you've had a total blood transfer and lost every organ in your body," Chloe tells him.

The door opens, and Jesse steps back into the room. "The pastor's on his way," he says.

"So why don't you just say it?" Beca urges. She can't help herself; she's waited  _so long._

"I guess you guys got me," Paul mumbles. "What else can I say?"

Beca looks him dead in the eyes. "Say who you are."

Paul averts his gaze to the wall behind Beca's head. After a few moments, he opens his mouth and says, "The Barden Strangler."

Beca almost screams.

_Finally_.

* * *

Beca feels like she's going to explode.

She's elated, because after nearly six hours of interrogation, Paul finally gave a full, detailed confession.

She's drained, because she's been at this for two years, neglecting nearly every other aspect of her life.

She's disoriented, because she almost can't remember what she did before this all happened.

And she's terrified, because this is officially the end.

Jesse asks if she wants to grab drinks to celebrate, but Beca just shakes her head, making up some excuse about being too tired. Chloe looks at her strangely, but doesn't say anything.

The ride home is silent; once inside her apartment, Beca makes a beeline for bed, barely even bothering to take off her clothes and pull on an old t-shirt.

"Bec?" Chloe asks softly, sitting down on the bed and putting a hand on Beca's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Beca lies, her face half-hidden in her pillow. "Just tired."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine, Chlo," Beca insists, her voice edged with irritation.

She can't help it; she turns into a bitch when she's stressed out or upset. Beca  _hates_ being vulnerable, hates being seen as vulnerable. So she pushes people away whenever she feels that way. She's gotten better with the whole  _talking about feelings_ thing since Chloe came—Chloe wears her heart on her sleeve, and she isn't afraid to show it. Chloe is the kind of person who shows her love through kisses in the morning and flowers just because and deep conversations late at night instead of sleeping.

Beca's idea of love is sitting on opposite ends of the couch in silence.

Beca still hates being vulnerable, but now she actually  _wants_ to talk about her feelings with Chloe. She just can't bring herself to break through that last wall, and it's frustrating.

So she turns away and curls up into a ball underneath the blanket.

"Okay," Chloe says quietly, but Beca can tell she doesn't believe her.

The light switches off and Beca feels Chloe crawl into bed behind her, shifting around to get comfortable.

After a moment, she feels the warmth of Chloe's body against her back and an arm wrap around her midsection.

It's the same way they always go to sleep, but it breaks something inside of Beca, and suddenly she's sobbing, hyperventilating when she tries to take a breath.

"Beca," Chloe says worriedly, tugging at Beca's shoulder, "what's wrong?"

Beca allows herself to shake her head; she doesn't think that she could get the "no" out even if she tried.

"Come here," Chloe urges, and Beca rolls over so she's face-to-face with Chloe.

It's about as vulnerable as Beca can get, staring into Chloe's eyes as she cries. This is her sign of trust; this is her ultimate signal of love.

Chloe seems to get the idea, because there are tears rolling down her cheeks and off of the end of her nose. She grabs Beca's hand and squeezes before letting go to brush Beca's hair out of her face.

"We'll figure this out," Chloe says, like she did the other night. It loses some of its reassurance when she's sniffling and her face is damp with tears, though.

Still, Beca says, "Okay." She hides her face against Chloe's collarbones; she can't bear to look into those big, blue, wet eyes any longer.

They lay together in silence—save for some periodic sniffling—for a long time. Beca can't fall asleep, though; she's too anxious. And every time she closes her eyes, she remembers those painful weeks when Chloe was back in Quantico. It isn't something she ever wants to live through again, but it doesn't seem like she has very many other options.

"We'll figure this out," Beca whispers—maybe if she says it she'll start to believe it.

(It doesn't work.)

"I know," Chloe says, pressing a kiss to Beca's hair as her hand rubs slow, soothing circles on Beca's back. It helps, because Beca can focus on the feeling instead of the worries rolling around in the pit of her stomach.

"I love you," Beca mumbles against Chloe's skin as she drifts off to sleep.

Chloe takes in a shuddering breath; Beca can feel the vibration of it. It makes her chest squeeze uncomfortably.

"I love you, too," Chloe whispers back.

Beca falls asleep to the steady ride-and-fall of Chloe's breathing, the "I love you" ringing in her ears.

They'll figure this out.

They have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the interrogation/confession came right out of Inside the Mind of BTK. Because, you know. I haven't killed eight people.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter before the epilogue!!! And a few (short) deleted scenes I can write if anyone wants them.

Preparing for a trial is a  _lot_ of work. Beca's glad she isn't an attorney.

She doesn't have to actually do  _that_ much—they just turn over the case files to the district attorney's office, but there's also depositions and testimony preparation. There's a  _lot_ of paperwork and organizing that has to be done, too. Sometimes the busywork after catching a criminal is more time-consuming than the actual investigation.

(Beca will take the filing over the stakeouts any day, though.)

The media has also been an absolute circus since the announcement of Paul Howell's arrest—reporters have even shown up at Beca's apartment. How they got her address, Beca doesn't know. She's no longer just Beca Mitchell—she's Detective Mitchell, apprehender of the Barden Strangler.

It's weird; even though it's mostly just the local news and crime fanatics who've been obsessively following the case that recognize her, she feels strangely like a celebrity. It's not nearly as fun as it may sound.

She also has to deal with Paul's family making a stink, insisting that he could  _never_ do such a thing.

Some people just don't understand the concept of DNA evidence.

Between that, packing up her apartment, and rushing to finish all of her cases before her resignation date, Beca barely as time to sleep.

She's sticking around Atlanta until her testimony date, but Chloe is taking a moving truck back up to Virginia the next morning. Once she's done, Beca's going to take the rest of her stuff to join her.

It's thrilling and terrifying, leaving everything she's ever known behind, but Beca has realized that she'll follow Chloe to the ends of the Earth.

That's even more scary.

Beca's not actually worried about finding employment, thanks to Paul—if she doesn't get into the FBI (although Chloe has assured her she's a shoe-in), she's pretty sure she can get a job with any police department in the state.

She'll of course miss Jesse, and Cynthia Rose, and even Aubrey, but she's actually quite excited to start her new life hand-in-hand with Chloe.

It wasn't an easy decision to make; Beca grew up here, and her father was a cop here, too. She'd never thought of herself as a sentimental person, but she finds herself having feelings of nostalgia as she drives through the streets of the county—the house where she made her first arrest, or the ice cream stand where she and her dad would go sometimes when she was a kid.

Chloe is far more important than her memories, though—Chloe is the most important thing in Beca's life, and if picking up her life and moving to another state is what it takes for them to be together, Beca will do it, no questions asked.

It's strange for Beca to think that she's only known Chloe for less than two years; it seems like an eternity. Chloe has somehow infiltrated herself into every facet of Beca's life—Beca automatically buys bananas for her at the grocery store, even though Beca thinks they're gross; Chloe is the first person she speaks to in the morning and the last at night; she takes pictures of dogs she meets on the street to send to Chloe.

Beca's not an easy person to get to know; she knows this. She's been told this many times—been called cold, or unfeeling, or icy, most often by her exes.

It's not that she doesn't  _have_ feelings. She's just scared to give them away. Beca is very guarded; having your father walk out of your life when you're ten years old and not contact you until you're twenty-one will put anyone on edge. It didn't help that her mother dated a series of flaky, self-centered men throughout her teenage years.

She's actually excited about this new start with Chloe, even if there's no guarantee the FBI will choose her. And even if the FBI means a  _lot_ of physical activity. (She's started going on runs with Chloe, and it  _sucks_ , but each time sucks a bit less than the time before.)

She's started talking about her future with Chloe in a way she couldn't before, because the future used to be so uncertain. Now they stay up late into the night, talking about whether they should redecorate Chloe's apartment or get a new one altogether, or where they'll go on their first vacation together or—on one occasion, as Chloe was slipping into sleep—about how they're going to get married one day.

Beca's happier than she can ever remember being in her life.

She just has to make it through these next few weeks.

Beca's not looking forward to their time apart, but it'll be so much easier to get through now that she knows there's going to be a light at the end of the tunnel.

And tonight, they're going to party.

It might be a little odd that they're celebrating putting a man who murdered eight people and nearly killed one more in jail, but Beca thinks they've earned it. Nobody working the case has been able to fully relax since the very first murder, so even a little get-together with some beers and chips is a welcome event.

"I can't believe you're leaving," Jesse says around a mouthful of chips and salsa. He'd offered to host the party since Beca's is a disaster area and Aubrey is too anal to invite people over to her place.

"I know," Beca says, scrunching up her nose. "It's weird."

Chloe, who has an arm around Beca's waist, squeezes her lightly, reassuringly.

"You're going to kick ass at the FBI, though," Jesse says.

"Let's hope," Beca says wryly, taking a sip of her beer.

Chloe nudges Beca with her elbow. "You're going to get in."

Beca just shrugs; she knows that she can make it through the application process with flying colors, but she is wary of getting in the mindset of just assuming she'll get in.

"Have you ever thought about applying?" Chloe asks Jesse.

Jesse shakes his head. "It sounds really cool, but I really like where I am."

"Understandable," Chloe agrees. "We're gonna miss you."

"I never said that," Beca jokes.

"Shush," Chloe says, snagging Beca's beer bottle out of her hand and taking a sip.

"Hey!" Beca protests. "Get your own."

Chloe gives her a cheeky grin and takes another slow sip. "I like yours better."

Beca rolls her eyes but mutters, "Yeah, whatever."

"Have you started preparing?" Jesse asks. "For the application process and stuff?"

"Yeah," Beca says with a nod. "I ordered some books and Chloe's been quizzing me and coaching me on what to say in interviews." Chloe smiles and nods. "And we've been"—Beca lets out a dramatic groan—" _running_."

Jesse bursts out laughing.

"Hey," Beca says, frowning. "What's so funny?"

"You," Jesse says between chuckles, "running."

"I still don't see way that's funny," Beca grumbles. She used to go on runs with Jesse back when they both started at the police academy.

"Yeah," Chloe chimes in, still holding Beca's beer, "Beca looks majorly hot when she runs. If you don't mind the sweating and the wheezing."

"Excuse me, it's not  _that_ bad," Beca defends. "I run like a normal person."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jesse asks.

"You know what? Never mind," Beca says, crossing her arms.

"Aw, come on," Chloe says, poking Beca in the shoulder. "We're just teasing."

Beca opens her mouth to reply—hopefully something witty, but probably something stupid—but she's cut off by Aubrey clanging a butter knife against a wine glass.

( _Aubrey_ would  _be the only one drinking wine_ , Beca thinks.)

"Good evening, everyone," Aubrey says, always one to be formal (even if it's just a handful of cops in jeans and t-shirts drinking beer).  
"What up, Aubrey!" Jesse calls, one hand cupped around his mouth.

Aubrey glares at him for a moment before continuing. "We are gathered here today—"

Beca snorts before she can stop herself, and she quickly tries to cover it with a cough as Chloe shakes with silent laughter next to her.

If Aubrey heard her, she ignores it. "…in celebration of the arrest of the Barden Strangler."

The room erupts in whoops, cheers, and applause. Aubrey smiles a little as she continues: "I wanted to thank everyone in the department for their hard work; all of you had at least a small hand in this.

"And I'd especially like to thank Detective Mitchell, Detective Swanson, and Agent Beale," Aubrey says, looking directly at them with a soft smile. "Agent Beale—"

"Do you think she'll ever call me Chloe?" Chloe whispers in Beca's ear. Beca shakes her head.

"—is leaving to go back to Quantico, so make sure you get in your goodbyes and thanks. And," Aubrey says, "Detective Mitchell is soon resigning from the department to move to Virginia with Agent Beale to apply to the FBI."

Everyone starts cheering once again, and Beca ducks her head; she's never been one to be the center of attention.

"Beca, you've been a valuable part of this department for many years, and we will definitely feel your loss," Aubrey says sincerely, and Beca's pretty sure this is the first time she's heard Aubrey say anything heartfelt or complimentary to anyone. Ever.

Aubrey nods once definitively before moving out of the center of the room, signaling her speech is finished.

And then, to Beca's surprise, Jesse stands up.

"I met Beca about ten years ago," he says, addressing the room.

"Jesse, what are you doing?" Beca hisses. She doesn't know where this is going, but she suspects she isn't going to like it.

Jesse either doesn't hear her or ignores her. (Beca's betting on the latter.) "We were in the same class at the police academy. I knew I wanted to be friends with her right away—she was the only one who didn't seem scared of the guys screaming in our faces and telling us to hurry up. She could also do the one-and-a-half-mile run faster than any of us. I know; it's hard to believe." He pauses as the people in the room chuckle, including Chloe.

"Thanks," Beca whispers to her sarcastically.

"Beca is a kick-ass cop, but she wasn't always such a hot-shot detective," Jesse says, and  _yeah_ , Beca has a bad feeling. "Back when we were fresh out of the academy, Beca wrote our then-lieutenant a ticket for double-parking outside of a store. She didn't recognize his car. Boy, did she get it from him for that one."

Everyone in the room laughs, and Beca sinks down lower in her seat.  _Remind me to_ kill  _Jesse later_ , she thinks to herself.

"As fate would have it," Jesse continues, "we were assigned to the same patrol. Beca didn't really want anything to do with me at the time, but I told her that we were gonna be really great friends someday." He turns and smiles at Beca, a hint of sadness in his features. "And here we are. I can't believe you're leaving. I couldn't have asked for a better partner all these years."

Beca shifts in her seat, uncomfortable with all of the attention. She blinks rapidly, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to cry. Jesse has been by her side for over ten years; he's been the most consistent thing she's ever had in her life. He's been there through her successes and her bungled cases, through her promotion to detective and the time she'd gotten into trouble for crashing her cruiser into a tree. (It turned out that the brakes were faulty and it wasn't her fault.)

Jesse had been there for her when her boyfriend of two years dumped her in a letter, and he'd taken care of her when a drug dealer she was arresting knocked her so hard in the side of the head she'd gotten a concussion.

Likewise, Beca had been there when Jesse's grandmother had died, and when he broke his ankle tripping over his own feet in the parking lot outside of the station. (Well, she'd helped him  _after_ she finished laughing.)

In such a short time, Chloe has become her person for all of these things, and she did it so easily that Beca barely even noticed. Jesse is still the best friend she's ever had, though—and Beca's just realizing now how much the thought of moving away from him hurts.

"Thanks, Jess," Beca says quietly to him when he sits down. Her throat feels tight and her nose in tingling in the way it always does when she's about to cry. Beca knows that she needs to get out of here before the tears start to fall, because she is  _not_ going to get emotional in front of the entire department.

Hastily, she makes up an excuse about needing to use the bathroom; she darts in there and closes the door just as she loses it.

She lets herself cry for a couple of minutes before she forces herself to stop; she takes slow, deep breaths and splashes cold water on her face.

A knock sounds at the door just as Beca's wiping the smudged eyeliner from underneath her eyes. "Just a sec," she calls.

"It's me." Chloe's voice is muffled by the door and the low, throbbing bass of the music someone has just put on.

Beca unlocks the door and cracks it open. She turns back to the sink as Chloe steps inside, bracing her hands on the porcelain edges and looking at herself in the mirror.

She supposes she's looked worse.

"You okay?" Chloe asks quietly.

Beca kind of half-laughs to herself; how is it that she always finds herself crying around Chloe? "I'm fine," she says, dragging the back of her hand across her nose in a way that's probably unattractive—but hey, Chloe picked her.

"You sure?" Chloe says, cupping Beca's cheek for a moment.

"Yeah, I just…" Beca blows out a breath and leans against the sink. "It's just weird, knowing I'm leaving. I've lived here my whole life, you know?"

Chloe nods and presses a kiss to Beca's forehead. "If you want to stay—"

"Don't even finish that sentence," Beca says with a teary laugh.

"Okay." Chloe smiles and takes Beca's hand in hers. "What do you want to do now? Go home?"

Beca shakes her head, wiping her eyes one more time. "It's your last night here. Let's party."

Chloe chuckles. "Alright, then."

* * *

Beca's not  _exactly_ drunk.

Yes, she might have had one too many drinks for a party with her  _boss_ , but she's not, like, hammered.

She just thanks God that she can walk home from Jesse's apartment.

"Easy there," Chloe says as Beca nearly trips over the uneven concrete of the sidewalk. She's had a few drinks, too, but she'd stopped at about the time Beca was doing shots with Jesse.

Beca still has her wits about her; the ground is just somewhat unsteady and she keeps laughing for no reason.

Chloe unlocks the door when Beca fumbles with her keys. Beca grabs Chloe's hand for support as she takes off her shoes.

"Let's get you to bed," Chloe says, guiding Beca down the hall by her arm.

Beca bumps into a stack of boxes she'd inexplicably placed right in the middle of the hallway. "Oof!"

"Can you please try not to hurt yourself?" Chloe asks as Beca shoves the boxes out of the way.

"I'm not  _trying_ to," Beca tells her, huffing. She's not drunk enough to trip over a box and hit her head. (She's not going to test that theory, though.)

Chloe goes over to the nearly empty dresser and unearths an oversized t-shirt for Beca, who starts to strip off her clothes.

Beca shoves her jeans down past her hips, using her feet to push them the rest of the way off while she braces a hand against the wall for support. The way Chloe's eyes track the denim's descent is not lost on Beca, and she takes her time slowly peeling off her shirt, reveling in the way Chloe bites her lip.

Beca reaches behind her and unhooks her bra, dropping it onto the floor. She watches as Chloe's eyes widen and dilate. Chloe stares for several seconds before averting her gaze, pretending Beca isn't affecting her.

Beca just crawls into the bed, sprawling out and laying her head back on the pillow.

"Do you want the shirt?" Chloe asks, handing the t-shirt to Beca before she can even answer.

"Nah," Beca says casually, linking her fingers together and putting them behind her head, "I think I'm good like this."

Beca's never felt quite comfortable with her appearance, her body; she's too short, she's too skinny, her teeth stick out slightly—she's self-conscious about it all. But what freaks her out most about nudity is the vulnerability it invites.

Beca feels comfortable with Chloe; she feels safe. But Chloe also spends more time in the nude than is probably considered normal, so Beca's gotten used to it. Somewhat. Plus, Beca's a lot less rigid when she's had a few drinks. So she lets Chloe's eyes travel the length of her body without even flinching or feeling the urge to cover herself up.

Chloe rolls her eyes and changes into another t-shirt and shorts that completely clash, but most of Chloe's clothes are packed.

Chloe climbs into the bed, lying on her side so she can look at Beca, so she can touch Beca.

The sensation of Chloe dragging one of her fingernails up Beca's side makes Beca shiver; it turns into a shudder when the finger trails up over Beca's breasts to trace patterns on her collarbones.

Beca tips her head back and closes her eyes, focusing on the feeling. It's useless to try and hurry Chloe along; it'll only make her draw out the teasing even more.

Chloe hand moves back down, drawing light circles around the edge of Beca's nipple.

It's driving her crazy.

She shifts restlessly, trying to subtly urge Chloe's hand to where she wants it.

"Something you're trying to tell me, Beca?" Chloe asks amusedly.

Beca hasn't even been very good at "subtle."

"If you could, like," Beca says, waving her hand vaguely, "get on with it, I'd appreciate it."

"Get on with what?" Chloe says, her tone innocent as her thumb and index finger pinch Beca's nipple lightly, making Beca arch her back and suck in a breath.

"Are we really going to play that game?" Beca whines, her whole body tingling. "You're leaving tomorrow."

Chloe doesn't say anything, her fingers tracing patterns, feather-light, across Beca's abdomen.

"Chloe," Beca urges.

"What?" Chloe blinks at her.

"You know what," Beca growls. When Chloe just smirks at her, Beca warns, "I'll do it myself if you want."

Chloe's hand stills. "Go ahead."

Very hesitantly, Beca's hand drifts towards her underwear. She prays to God that Chloe will intervene soon, because she might be comfortable with Chloe, but she's not  _that_ comfortable. She doesn't think she ever will be.

Beca keeps glancing at Chloe, hoping she'll change her mind, but Chloe's just staring at her.

Beca's more stubborn than she is self-conscious, though, and she very cautiously, very slowly slips her hand underneath the waistband of her panties. She can  _feel_ the heat emanating from between her legs, and she can't help but exhale shakily and screw her eyes shut tight when she first brushes up against herself, warm and wet.

Finally— _finally_ —Chloe intervenes, gently tugging Beca's hand away and replacing it with her own.

"I just wanted to see if you'd do it," Chloe confesses bemusedly as she draws tight circles between Beca's legs that prompts her to make a strangled noise.

"I… don't like you," Beca gasps out, her hips circling ever-so-slightly against Chloe's touch.

"I wouldn't recommend complaining if I were you," Chloe tells her as she slips one finger inside of Beca gently.

Beca shuts her mouth—well, she stops speaking in coherent sentences—because Chloe's fingers are moving more firmly, with more purpose.

Beca  _tries_ to hold out, to make this last as long as possible, because she's just going to have herself and the Internet for awhile, but it's too good; she quickly finds herself teetering on the edge.

She also knows from experience that Chloe's going to make fun of her, but she's (somewhat) drunk and  _so close_  that she doesn't particularly care.

Chloe clearly isn't going to play fair, either—she bites at Beca's chest, her collarbones, her neck, and whispers, "Come on," in Beca's ear.

And Beca's done.

She cries out sharply as the waves wash over her, grappling at Chloe's shoulders and back. Chloe brings her down gently until the convulsions stop and Beca relaxes, although she still feels little shocks along her legs.

"Don't," she tells Chloe before she can make any sort of comment.

Chloe grins like she knows exactly what Beca means, and leans over to kiss Beca's forehead. "Okay," she says. Then she sits up, straddling Beca's waist and pulling her shirt over her head, dropping it to the floor.

"What are you doing?" Beca asks—but she's  _definitely_ not complaining.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. "You weren't gonna let me go without a proper sendoff, right?"

Beca sits up immediately. "Of course not."

She wouldn't dream of it.


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of the ride! Thanks to everyone who read and left comments and kudos—I really, really appreciate it. I’ve had a few people ask for the deleted scenes, so there’s still a little bit more of this left. This is a lot shorter than the other chapters, fair warning.

" _Paul Howell, age forty-eight, was convicted today on eight counts of murder and one count of attempted murder. He was sentenced to eight consecutive life terms plus twenty-five years to life for the attempted murder of Keith Jacobson, whose wife, Julie, was killed by Howell."_

"Bec," Chloe calls from down the hall. "You about ready to go?"

Beca switches off the television as Chloe enters the room. "Yeah, I'm all set."

It's weird, watching this unfold on television instead of being in the courtroom with Jesse and Aubrey and the rest of the Barden PD. She feels like a spectator to the case that was, at one time, her entire life—the case that  _changed_ her entire life.

She still misses Barden, still misses Jesse and the rest of her coworkers like crazy. Beca's never had to start entirely fresh—new home (heck, new region of the country), new people, new job. Trying to find her own way through her time in training at the FBI Academy was like learning to walk again, especially since she had to live  _at_ the Academy for twenty weeks.

But Chloe has been by her side every step of the way: She's supported Beca, and rooted for her, and picked her up when things got tough. Chloe is Beca's rock, her support system—fuck, she's Beca's brain half the time.

Still, sometimes her new life is a bit overwhelming. With Beca stationed at the FBI field office in Washington, D.C., they'd decided to move closer to the city. It means a longer commute for Chloe, but it also means that Beca doesn't have to drive an hour both ways every day.

It's very different, being at the bottom of the proverbial totem pole again after so many years of being allowed to do her own thing. Sometimes Beca forgets that she can't throw pens at her fellow agents when they're being obnoxious.

It takes some getting used to, but it's thrilling, too—being back out in the field, hunting down the bad guys. (Okay, it doesn't go  _exactly_ like that, but it's definitely more hands-on action than Beca's had in years.)

FBI training really is no joke—Beca's still the same detective she was, but she's quicker, both on her feet and intellectually. She has a better understanding of the entire investigative process. She's also in much better shape.

Beca can actually go on runs with Chloe now without wanting to die.

(She's also trained in hand-to-hand combat, which she hasn't yet had to use, but it still makes her feel powerful.)

Beca misses the familiarity of having Jesse by her side; after a few years, they'd each been able to anticipate what the other was thinking, and it was both efficient and helpful. Beca's new colleagues are all very smart and friendly, but it's going to take some time before Beca can lean on them like she could lean on Jesse.

(Or like she can lean on Chloe.)

It's still fun and exciting, though, and Beca does feel quite badass carrying around her Glock and FBI ID.

Having (almost) single-handedly caught a serial killer does give Beca some street cred among her fellow agents, as does shacking up with a member of the BAU—although Beca doesn't exactly flout that information, because she doesn't want any special treatment. It doesn't really help when Chloe is always popping up for "surprise" visits, but Beca doesn't really mind.

It's actually a really nice change of scenery—the other agents come from such diversified backgrounds. Some are former detectives or police officers, like Beca, and some have law degrees, like Chloe, and others are accountants, chemists or biologists, ex-military, and foreign-language speakers. There's even a woman at Beca's office who was a psychiatric nurse.

The sight of Chloe in (one of her many) black pantsuits still  _does things_  to Beca—the butterflies-in-the-stomach, forget-to-breathe-for-a-moment kind of things.

Chloe presses a sweet kiss to Beca's lips. "Congrats on the conviction."

It's a strange thing to be happy about, a man being sent off to prison for the rest of his life, but Beca feels proud nonetheless.

"You had as much to do with it as I did," Beca says, grabbing her bag from where she'd left it the night before on a chair in the kitchen.

"Then I guess we'll both have to celebrate later," Chloe tells her with a wink as she grabs her keys, snatching Beca's as well and tossing them to her.

"You know that we couldn't have done it without you," Beca says softly, moving to pick Chloe on the cheek, resting her hands on her hips. "He'd probably still be out there killing people if you hadn't helped us."

Beca's not really a sentimental person—she throws away birthday cards the day after; she doesn't keep many photos around; and she doesn't save movie or concert tickets like some people do.

But Beca kept a copy of Paul's arrest warrant—she had it framed, actually, as weird as that seems. Looking at it gives her confidence, gives her assurance. She's not sure how much she's going to accomplish as an agent—she hasn't been one long enough to tell. But Beca knows, looking at the warrant, that she has done great things.

And she can do them again.

"It was you, too," Chloe says, brushing her lips against Beca's in a way that makes Beca shiver. "Supercop."

Beca rolls her eyes. "How long until you stop calling me that?"

Chloe presses her lips to Beca's more firmly for a moment before pulling away. "Never."

Beca just shakes her head and slips on her shoes.

"Don't make any plans for tonight," Chloe says, and Beca frowns.

"Who would I be making plans with?"

"We're going to go out," Chloe informs her, ignoring Beca's question. "And then," she says, her breath hot on Beca's ear as she leans in close, "we're going to  _celebrate_."

"Alright, alright," Beca says, pushing Chloe away. She needs to get out the door, and to do  _that_ , she needs to be able to think clearly enough to walk.

"Have a good day!" Chloe says. "Love you."

Beca turns back to smile at Chloe, hand on the doorknob. "I love you, too."

And then she's out the door.


	17. Deleted scenes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is really and truly the end of this story. (No, I'm not writing a sequel.) THANK YOU to everyone who has read/reviewed/commented/messaged/left kudos/etc/etc/etc! I've had some questions about what I'm doing next. I have a one-shot I'm writing right now that should (hopefully) be up by Sunday at the latest. And then I've got a couple of other things I'm planning afterwards.
> 
> Anyway. Here are the deleted scenes. They're very short.

**The "what if the killer went after Beca and/or Chloe?" scene that everyone kept fearing would happen.**

It comes in a nondescript white envelope.

Maybe that's why Beca ignores the fact that there's no return address; it looks like an ordinary piece of mail. Or maybe she's distracted by the residual endorphins from the hour-long shower that she just shared with Chloe.

Either way, she rips open the envelope.

 _Hello Detective Mitchell,_ she reads, and her blood runs cold.

_This is the Barden Strangler._

_You think you are so smart, don't you? You think that you and your girlfriend know every thing about me. But you do not._

_And yes I know Chloe Beale is your girlfriend. I have been watching you. I know where you live. I know where you work. I know what car you drive._

_So if you know what is good for you you will stop trying to find me. Because you will not and then you will pay._

_Your move, detective._

_-The Barden Strangler_

Beca's hands are shaking by the time she finishes reading the letter. She notices that there is something else inside the envelope, and she picks it back up. Inside she finds photographs—of her, of Chloe, of the two of them walking together down the street. The two of them getting into Beca's car. Them leaving the precinct.

Beca doesn't realize it, but she must have made some kind of noise because Chloe comes running into the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" Chloe asks, taking in Beca's pale face and quaking hands. "What happened?"

Beca just pushes the letter and the pictures towards Chloe; she feels like if she opens her mouth she'll vomit.

Chloe's brows knit together in worry as she reads. When she's done, she takes Beca's hands in her own. "Beca, take deep breaths. I know this is scary."

Beca tries to force air into her lungs. She almost doesn't care about herself—she doesn't, like, want to  _die_ , but it's the threat to Chloe that makes her heart nearly beat out of her chest.

"We're going to find another place to stay," Chloe tells her, "and we're going to get guards. Just let me take care of this."

Beca just nods dumbly. She sits staring at the wall as Chloe starts making calls.

Beca is grateful that Chloe seems to know what to do, because she sure as hell doesn't.

* * *

**A tiny moment from chapter twelve that I meant to put in but forgot about.**

The only time that Beca can get through the shower in a reasonable amount of time is when Chloe goes out for a run.

She wraps a towel around her body and pads into the bedroom in search of clothes. Something on the bed catches her eye, and she steps closer.

A red piece of fabric is spread across the blanket; upon further investigation, Beca sees that it's a cape. There's a yellow Superman logo in the middle underneath a printed word: SUPERCOP.

Beca groans. Her girlfriend is an  _idiot_.

(Also, where the hell did she even get this?)

* * *

**Alternate ending to the epilogue.**

Chloe likes the ocean.

Beca doesn't really understand what's so great about it—it's salty, and it smells weird, and it houses any number of things that could sting you or bite you or drag you into its underground lair and hold you hostage for all of eternity.

Beca might be a  _little_ afraid of the ocean.

But Chloe likes to walk along the pier in DC, so Beca sucks it up.

It's actually not  _that_ bad. Chloe holds her hand and gazes out over the water and Beca gazes at Chloe, the slight breeze lifting her hair a bit.

It makes Beca want to kiss her.

Today feels different, though: Chloe's a little tense. She's antsy.

Usually, they sit in near-silence. But Chloe blurts, "Beca, I love you."

Beca smiles a bit confusedly. "I love you, too, Chlo."

"I love you," Chloe repeats, her face an expression of determination. "I love you more than anyone I've ever known, and you're the most important thing in my life." Beca looks on, bemused. "You're the most amazing person I've ever met. You make me better—stronger, kinder, happier. And I like to think that I make you happy, too."

"You do, Chlo," Beca says, gently cupping Chloe's cheek for a moment. A tiny flame of suspicion lights in her stomach, and she thinks that she might have some idea of where this is going.

"And I want you to continue to make me happy, and I want to continue to make you happy," Chloe continues. "I want to be with you for the rest of my life."  _Yeah_ , Beca knows exactly what's happening now, and her heart starts to pound as Chloe shifts into a kneeling position, pulling a small box out of her jacket pocket.

The sight makes Beca's stomach flutter and her hands shake, and she can feel the pinprick of tears behind her eyes.

"Beca Mitchell, will you marry me?"

It takes a moment for Beca to choke out, "Yes."

Beca's not a relationship expert—actually, she's probably quite the opposite. But she's pretty sure that if a relationship can survive a serial killer, it can survive anything.

Suddenly, she's excited about the rest of her life in a way she never was before.


End file.
